We Will Live
by Tabbi-Katt
Summary: All he has are the memories he doesn't want. **Alternate retelling, genfic**
1. Birth

**This story is an alternate retelling that's planning stage was completed roughly a month before the film came out. As odd as this sounds, this was purposely done so I would have no (for lack of a better word) precedent of events and would be able to make a story that would be more entertaining for readers because it isn't a simple rehashing of what we've already seen.  
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**Also, as the planning stage was going, I realized slightly different versions of the characters had taken over this story. Personally, some of my favorite fanfics are the ones that have different takes on the characters but I do know other readers have problems with this so I would like to warn those people up front.**

**Now that I'm done of my badfic-esque author's note, I'll let my fic speak for itself. I do hope you enjoy, but if there are any problems, please let me know. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.**

****Currently looking for a beta reader, ****preferably one that's strength is sentence structure.**** This story is practice for a complete style overhaul and I'm afraid sometimes I write stuff that makes sense to me but not to anyone else. Another pair of eyes would be a great help to me. Thanks for taking the time to read this.******  
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* * *

**_Birth_**

* * *

  
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It was useless listening to the radio anymore. Before, the reports were always the same, talking of doom and an end hunting them into a corner. After that came only the sound of static, telling him what he already knew. He was alone.

The man turned away from the window and the view he didn't want to see anymore, instead focusing on every object on the table behind him. The small pile of papers he checked again that nothing was missing, then stacked and restacked the sheets before setting them back down exactly as they'd been. The projector with just enough energy left for a few minutes of film he made sure was parallel to the wall. He didn't want the image to be tilted even a millimetre.

With nothing more to procrastinate with, he finally turned his eyes to the doll sitting in front of him, its head weighing its small body slightly forward. He'd spent countless hours going over every detail of that doll, knowing this was his last chance, and now he thought he'd gladly throw all those hours away for only one more day if he could. Still, the want to rectify a mistake was stronger and this doll would be his way to succeed.

There was only one more thing to do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the device he'd held onto for so many years. It was an item almost insignificant in size by human standards but in comparison to the doll was large enough to fit comfortably in a single hand. His fingers felt as stiff as the doll's metal ones as he secured the device in its palm. In that one movement, any doubt he'd had left his heart and he knew this was really the end.

He was aware of how ridiculous it was to talk to something that couldn't reply, yet the man said, "Whatever happens, make sure you stay alive."

Slowly, time faded color from the room. Stories began and finished, some that had never been remembered, others that would never be forgotten.

The papers so neatly organized were strewn over the table and floor, and the projector so carefully placed had become nothing more than an empty box. As for the doll, he sat on the windowsill, his back against the frame, the once blank eyes staring at the device set in front of him.

_Remember everything_, he'd been told. His hands clasped together tightly but he refused to back away from the memories. He would remember it all, no matter how long it took.

He leaned his head back and thought of the first moment in his life.

It all began with the color black and one thought—more of an awareness, really—that could be translated to _I am alive_. The lenses in his eyes opened and blinked to adjust to the light streaming over him. It was near impossible to recall what he thought while staring at the ceiling so his mind moved on to the sudden and rather obvious realization he was lying on his back and should sit up.

He could remember using his left arm to support himself because when he put weight on his right side again he felt something odd and, checking, was amazed to see he was holding an object. Dropping it, he raised both hands in front of his face, opening and closing his fingers for what felt like ages without once getting bored.

What followed was a moment of innocent wonder he would never feel again. Actions he'd find simplistic later were marvels, from a stumbling stand to a tiny jump, they were all spectacular feats to him. Every sound was music, especially the odd chinking noise that came when he ran a finger over the zipper on his front, and every sight was art. He was circling in place, examining the way light fell on the fabric he was made of, when something caught his eye and the moment ended.

The something was on the floor on the other side of the small room where the light didn't reach. He couldn't see any details and could only guess it might be a pile of clothes. He reached down to pick up the previously ignored object without looking away, thinking the something might disappear if he so much as blinked.

He hopped from the table, to a chair, to the floor, always trying to keep his eyes on what he was now sure was a pile of clothes. Curiosity tugged at him and he followed it, but, the closer he came to the something, the slower his steps became until he stopped completely. It was a pile of clothes, no doubt, but the shape looked different, not at all like when you throw a jacket absently on the floor. It almost seemed like it was supposed to resemble a certain shape...

He backed away hastily, the curiosity gone. This was wrong. Whatever the pile of clothes was or had been, it shouldn't have been lying on the floor like that.

He had to leave. Out of the light, everything appeared gray and the air he was breathing felt thick and choking. He held the object close as he left the room, watching the shadows all around. He didn't dare look behind him.

The rest of the house he walked through was no better. Darkness covered the walls, every window either shuttered or draped with cloth, and the only sound was his feet on the floorboards. He kept telling himself he was simply paranoid, that nothing was hiding and waiting to catch him, but it didn't stop the feeling of the air pressing down on his shoulders.

It wasn't until he was making his way down a flight of stairs—a time-consuming task for a small, very cautious person—when he saw light again. He was in such a hurry to reach it that he fell down a few steps, the object clattering down more and landing in the light. He muttered to himself as he went to pick it up. Why he wanted to keep it, he wasn't sure, but whatever it was must have been given to him if he'd woken up with it. Maybe it would help him later if he ever figured out what exactly it was, or what 'later' entailed, for that matter. For now, it was just something for his hands to wrap around and distract them from shaking. He turned towards the comforting sunlight and found himself looking at nothing.

One wall was gone, from rot or another misfortune he didn't know, and a desolate landscape stretched out before him, filled to the horizon with what his mind somehow knew were the remains of a city. The crumpled buildings and other bits of destruction didn't seem real with the sun illuminating them harshly. The sight would have disturbed anyone else but, for him, he only saw the world he'd been born into, not knowing it was once so much more than this.

He continued down the stairs, glancing every now and then to the landscape for no reason other than to see it. The wood, at first so sturdy, began to creak beneath him the further he went and soon he could feel it bending under his weight. He was wondering if he should go back up or continue when the step decided for him and he dropped so quickly he hit the ground without realizing he'd even been falling and barely avoided the piece of wood that came after. He had to replace the breath knocked out of him before making sure he was fine—sore but still able to move—and that he still had the object—it had amazingly never left his hand—before he moved away from the house as fast as he could.

He started to relax once there was a good distance between him and that place he was certain he'd never return to. Without bleak walls on all sides of him, the air was easier to breathe and the pressure on his shoulders lightened. He told himself what he'd felt in the house had simply been his imagination and nothing terrible could happen in broad daylight. So why was he so worried the weight on his shoulders hadn't left completely?

* * *

A doll with the number 2 on his back raised his head. There'd been a sound in the distance, similar to the snap of wood, but when nothing followed it a minute later he went back to searching. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, he never was, but it didn't seem right to go out and not bring anything back.

He was studying a broken magnifying glass, thinking there must be some use for a wooden frame, when he heard another sound, like something walking behind him, and he turned to see someone like him. The other was still a ways off but 2 could see him enough to think _It's somebody new_.

Moving carefully closer, he watched the other that hadn't seen him yet and wondered when would be a good time to say hello. He would usually introduce himself right away but considering the other's posture—slightly hunched shoulders, arms tucked in, hands held up to his chest—it wouldn't be the best idea for 2 to yell a greeting at him. At the same time, turning around and seeing someone watching you couldn't be much better.

He puzzled over these only options he could think of, hidden under the shadow of a vehicle, now close enough to have seen an expression if the other had been facing him and not looking over the opposite horizon. So caught up in not wanting to be alarming, 2 wasn't paying attention to his surroundings and the hat he wore hit against a piece of metal above him. It wasn't so much the small _plink_ that surprised him as much as his focus suddenly being diverted and he mumbled an exclamation he would've otherwise overlooked if the person he'd been watching hadn't whipped around.

2's thoughts were simply _Well, that didn't work so well._

The other checked all around him, body tense, but couldn't find the source of what startled him. He called out, "Who's there?" Poor thing was trying to sound brave with an unsteady voice.

2 stepped out to where he could be seen, surprised when the other jumped back, and decided introductions would come later. With all kindness, he said, "You don't have to worry, I'm not going to hurt you."

The other believed him, 2 was certain. Although, he leaned away, he shuffled forward slightly, asking "Who are you?"

2 took another step and smiled. "I'm someone you can trust."

He didn't cross the space between them. Instead he waited for the young one hanging back. Soon, with some hesitation still clinging to him, the other moved forward and 2, with a sense of relief, closed the gap between them.

It wasn't until they were nearly in front of each other that 2 saw that the hands the other kept so close to himself held something. Quiet curiosity in his voice, 2 asked, "What is that?"

The other's first reaction was to try and hide the object but, after giving his head a slight shake, he held it out and while looking down said, "I don't really know, but I think it's mine."

2 stared at it, wanting more than anything to know how it worked. He glanced up to the other. "May I see it?"

The other tightened his grasp protectively but after a moment offered the object to 2, who thanked him and promised to be careful.

If it had to be described as something, the object resembled a dead spider, "legs" curled in, the "body" a shining metal that reflected his face back at him. He couldn't guess any original use for it, and he longed to take it apart. Maybe later. For now, he thought if they made doors to their size it would make an excellent doorknob.

The other had been quiet, if a bit fidgety, and now asked, "Is it yours?"

2 had to restrain from laughing at the ring of guilt in the question. Passing the object back, he assured, "No, I know as much about it as you do." The other he could see was finally calm, so he said, "My name is 2. What's yours?"

The other opened his mouth to respond but it appeared a thought went through his mind and his gaze drifted down.

_He _is_ new_. "No need to look so embarrassed. Finding out names is simple because they're written on us." He turned full circle to show his own number. "See? This way everyone knows who you are."

The other looked at him with a mix of confusion and disbelief before trying in vain to see over his shoulder. This time 2 couldn't contain his laughter as the other spun around, attempting to read the number on his own back. The other's expression when he stopped only asked for help. 2 told him, "Spin around once more, slower this time so I can see."

The other complied and turned in place. When they were facing again, 2 grinned and said, "It's very nice to meet you, 9."

The other's face was slow to change but, once it did, his first smile was enough for 2 to think of all the times he'd gotten in trouble for going outside and know they were all worth it to find moments like this.

9 replied, "It's very nice to meet you as well."

* * *

They didn't speak much after that, apart from 2 explaining 9 could keep the object inside him—odd but both truthful and useful—and suggesting he come with him. When asked where they were going he answered, "Home." The odd thing was, though, they didn't seem to be heading anywhere. 9 had no problem following and talking—and, in truth, wanting to prove he wasn't an idiot even though he hadn't known his name—but he couldn't understand why 2 would stop to examine what he thought of as only rubbish.

On a good note, having a companion lessened what he could only call trepidation of the world around him. Most of his anxiety had probably come from simply being alone and already he was feeling safer. 2's personality certainly helped. He'd never thought a person could be so happy all the time, over the most impractical of things. It was nice to find humour in nothing important, to forget the feeling he'd had in that house.

Although he told himself everything was fine, he would often check behind him, for what he couldn't explain. His attention drifted from the landscape when 2 asked "What could this be used for?" while holding up a piece of mangled metal. 9, who could only think up one ridiculous use, replied "I'm sorry, I don't know." 2 set the piece of metal on the ground, although it took a moment for him to stop staring after it longingly. 9 glanced behind them again.

The next time they stopped at the discovery of a typewriter, 9 questioned, politely as possible, "Didn't you say we were going somewhere?"

2 replied cheerfully, "We are, but it's only morning, we have the whole day in front of us." He pulled at one of the typing keys and it came off in his hand, almost causing him to fall back. He gave an approving nod to it before climbing onto the typewriter and tugging at more of the keys.

9 looked at the hills of debris and the few remaining brick walls surrounding them and thought it resembled a pit. "Wouldn't we have all day tomorrow?"

There was a soft sigh from 2. "It's sort of frowned upon to go outside too often, or at all, really. We're told it's dangerous, but staying inside all the time gets boring quickly." He turned to 9 with what the other had already started referring to as 'his usual smile'. "The way I look at it, you can't call it living if every day is exactly the same."

9 couldn't say he agreed, since his life consisted of roughly an hour at this point. He said, "You mentioned a 'we'. Does that mean you and I aren't the only ones here?"

2 found this hilarious. A hint of laughter still remained as he said, "No, no, of course not." He pulled out another key and tossed it amongst the rest before explaining, "There's eight—well, nine of us, now that you're here. We're a bit of an odd group, admittedly, but we can all help each other in some way." He must have mistaken 9's silence as miscomprehension because he clarified, "For example, I like to make things. There's also 5, he's sort of a student of mine. You'll like him. Then there's the fighters that protect us, they're much braver than I could ever hope to be, and the twins, who know almost everything."

9 listened, hearing an emotion similar to pride in 2's voice, and wondered what he could add to this group. The option of fighting didn't suit him and he knew already he wasn't creative. He couldn't think of any talent that would be of help.

2 added, "Oh, and there is 1—don't be offended if he doesn't seem to like you, he's the same with everyone—he would be the leader, you could say." He looked up from the typewriter when he heard 9 scoff. "What?"

"I'm trying to imagine myself being like any of these people you talk about." 9 said, "Being a leader definitely isn't me."

Another key was pulled out and 2 examined a broken edge. "You never know. We were all made to do something."

He remembered wanting to counter and say he was much too nervous but when he heard the sound of something fall behind him, any jokes 9 had of his own cowardice fled. The anxiety that had brushed against him earlier hit with full weight when he turned, about to ask what the sound was, and saw 2 frozen, the smile gone. Without taking his eyes off the hills of debris, 2 carefully set the key in his hand down and climbed off the typewriter. He gave a tilt of his head back and whispered, "Come."

9 could feel the air pressing down on him again and it was worse than before. Pointing to the typewriter keys, he started, "What about–"

"We have to leave." 2 was frantically looking around them while backing away. Another sound—like metal scratching on metal—caused them both to jump, 2 worse than 9. He presumably spotted whatever he'd been looking for and in the same hushed voice told 9 again to come with him.

It would have been best if 9 had listened but he couldn't run off and hide, as 2 was now desperately insisting they had to. There were so many questions flashing through his mind—Why was 2 being so quiet? What was making that sound? Why was the typewriter, so exciting a minute ago, now forgotten?—but the most demanding was 'What was about to happen?' It was a feeling a person unfamiliar with nightmares didn't understand but, when he heard scratching metal once more, the urge to know overpowered 2's pleading words and he turned in the direction the noise had come from.

He didn't have to wait long for his answers. On the hill farthest from them, the first thing 9 saw was the glint of light off sharp claws, followed by a skulled head. He realized he was looking at a machine but, with the skull and pieces of rubbish arranged into the image of an animal skeleton, it felt like he was seeing a living thing. The machine's movements were similar to a feline's as it stepped down the hill, its claws pressing down on the trash beneath it.

9 watched the cat-machine—just watched, there was no emotion he could recall feeling—and only when 2 grabbed his arm and dragged him back did he sense a threat. The claws he stared at with amazement could easily rip him apart, and the machine's slow swing of its head and calculated steps matched those of a hunter. There was no doubt 9 and 2 were the hunted.

9 could barely breathe as he was pulled into the hiding place 2 had found, the remnants of a building partially held up by a door that left enough room for it to feel like they were being backed into the corner of a cave. He gasped out, "What was that?" His own voice was painfully loud.

2 ignored him, begging "_Please_ be quiet," and still clutching at his arm. The cat was coming closer and there was one last yank as far as they could go before 2 pressed his body against 9's.

They stared at where the cat was sure to come and find them, breathes shallow as possible, and when the white head peered in, 9 was sure they stopped breathing altogether. The only sound came from rusty joints, the only light from a single glowing red eye as it scanned around the small space. For one horrible instant, 9 could have sworn it was looking right at them, but it turned away and soon drew back and was gone from their sight.

There were no relieved sighs or relaxed shoulders. The propped door gave a view of the outside and the cat still hunting. A tug on 9's arm made him look to see 2 beckoning to their left where a leak of sunlight hinted an escape, With 2 still holding onto him, he and 9 inched so hesitantly towards that light it seemed they weren't moving at all; but, with them receding and the cat making its way up the debris hills, they were getting away from it and the light was almost within reach. They were close, so close, to being safe.

What happened next took more time to remember than the event itself lasted. 9 and 2 were taking small, careful steps back, always keeping the cat within sight but not once checking for dangers behind them. 2 stumbled over something that clattered—what exactly was never found out—and fell, causing 9 to shout at the sharp pull felt up to his shoulder.

The cat's head snapped towards them the same time 2 said to 9 in a harsh whisper, "Go."

9 wanted to run and keep running until he was out of harm's way, but instead of fleeing he helped 2 stand. He heard the rusted joints as an explosive screeching and 2 telling him to leave and pushing him away, then he saw only glimpses: 2's face, sharp teeth, the colour red, and then black and darkened burgundy that was the ceiling as he was knocked down.

When 9 looked back to where 2 had been, he saw him in the jaws of the cat, his body limp with defeat. As he was being taken away, their eyes connected for such a small amount of time that to call it a second would be an exaggeration. But 9 never forgot the way 2 had looked at him, and when the cat backed out of their hiding place, he stopped listening to instincts of self-protection and ran after it.

He yelled at the cat to get its attention, struggling up the hills it could hop over with ease. It gave him no more acknowledgement than it would an insect in its path, but he had to keep trying. If he gave up then the last he'd ever see of 2 would be that look that said all too well _goodbye_.

9 was falling behind. In less than a minute the cat would be out of his sight. With no better ideas coming to him, he picked up the first rock he found and threw it, demanding "Let him go!"

The rock pinged off the machine harmlessly but it was enough to make it turn its head and see another little doll running at it. 9 didn't know what he was going to do and he couldn't bring himself to care because he could see 2 now, watching him. He started thinking of some way to rescue the other when the cat kicked him, a blow to his chest, and he struck a pile of trash, cans cascading down on him. He felt what at first seemed like nothing more than a pinprick in his shoulder but, when he tried to move and yell 2's name, became a searing pain that had him doubled over, holding a whimper inside. It was an effort to lift his head and he saw the cat strolling away as if it hadn't noticed him at all, carrying 2 off with it.

9 glanced at the expanse of land that filled his sight, knowing that by the time he was able to move again it would take a lifetime to guess and find where 2 was being taken.

He hadn't even been alive for a full twenty-four hours yet and already his life was out of control.


	2. Defiance

**Constructive crit is always welcome!**

* * *

_Defiance_

* * *

5 was bored on lookout duty.

_As usual_.

Of all the jobs to be stuck with, he had to get the worst one. It was bad enough he was by himself all day, he didn't need others dropping by just to tell him, "So, my little one-eyed one, what is _not_ going on in the world today?"

He muttered to himself—of course, there was no one else to talk to—"'Pay attention and always keep watch.' Watch for _what_? Nothing ever happens and nothing ever will." He spun the telescope beside him for something to do. "Paranoid cowards, the whole lot of them."

Not that he wasn't one himself. As most days went, after ranting he checked through the telescope that no machine was really coming near them, and after that he'd complain again of being bored out of his mind.

There came the occasional day when he'd see something of interest. Sometimes it was that cat wandering around, usually too far away to raise the alarm about. And once in a while he'd catch a glimpse of one of the people he was looking out for. But not once had he been aimlessly looking over the city and suddenly spot a person he didn't know.

He pulled back from the telescope for a second, convinced what he saw was a trick of the light or some other explanation, but the magnified image didn't change. The new person was walking, holding his left shoulder, his head flicking from side to side. A sound must have startled him because he jumped and searched around him.

_If you ever needed a stereotype for someone needing help, this'd be it._

5 glanced behind him, which was ridiculous because even if someone was there they wouldn't be able to read his thoughts. He checked on the new person again. He could barely see the number on his back, but he could easily take a guess at his name.

It wasn't often he got ideas, but he did know the difference between a good one or a bad one. He told himself, "You're going to get yelled at for this" while hurrying downstairs.

* * *

If 9 had thought he was scared before, he was downright terrified now. Once he got used to the pain in his shoulder—it had been torn on the rusted lid of a tin can—he'd started following after the cat, hoping it stayed in the same direction. Whenever something blocked his path, such as a wall, he would side-step and, on the other side, get as close as possible to where he left. He didn't want to take any chance of straying too far.

As time went on, he became agitated, thinking he could hear something behind him, and the feeling worsened when he turned to investigate one of these noises, finding nothing, and realized he'd lost the path. Soon after that his thoughts started losing coherency and his own mind stopped making any sense. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing; looking for someone? Someplace? There'd been a creature, that much he knew, and he was sure one like it was following him and was going to take him away and he was hurting so much...

He forced himself to keep moving, certain if he did then the thing after him couldn't get him. Another hill—he was beginning to hate those—seemed to appear right in his way and he had to struggle over it while using only one arm. He wasn't that far from the top when a brick beneath him started to slip and, without thinking, he put out his left hand for balance. The jolt of that single movement and for the second time that day he fell. He hit the ground with so much force he had to suck in enough breath to yell at the feeling of being torn open again. He managed to stand up, cringing and holding his shoulder, but instead of continuing on, he sat on the brick that had fallen along with him.

The glaring sunlight made everything surrounding him blindingly bright and he hung his head so he wouldn't see any of it. He thought _Let the thing find me_. It couldn't be that much different from how he felt now.

When he looked back upon this moment, 9 couldn't help but be disgusted at his own weakness. What made the feeling worse, he didn't mean a word of what he was telling himself. There was only one good thing he could remember coming from that moment: even though he said he was giving up, that the end couldn't be that bad, he knew his life was the most precious possession he held and he could never let go of it. At the same time, life couldn't loosen its grip on him easily, either. So when he heard someone call to him, his head shot up and his mind was already trying to gauge if he should fight or run.

To his right, someone slid down a hill a few metres away, almost tripping as he reached the ground. 9 could see this person, similar in appearance to him, had a pack slung over one shoulder with something thin and silver sticking out, but that was only seen after first noticing a patch covered where his left eye should have been.

The stranger asked, "You're 9, right?"

9, trapped in a moment of confusion, nodded slowly.

The stranger sighed so deeply it sounded more like he was inhaling. Walking forward, he said, "Finally! I thought I'd lost you and was about to head back before someone noticed I was gone but then I heard you scream–"

"I didn't scream." Suspicion hardening inside him, 9 leaned away, trying to block his left side from view. He demanded, "Who are you and why were you looking for me?"

The stranger halted when 9 first spoke, a slightly bewildered expression that this person was less than glad to see him. His face became more cheerful as he said, "I'm 5 and I thought you might like a helping hand." He lifted his head to 9's left. "Your shoulder's bothering you, isn't it?"

9 realized how pointless it was to hide part of his body and told himself to relax. To the stranger whose name seemed vaguely familiar he asked, "Are you trustworthy?"

5's response of "Sure" was anything but comforting. He came to stand beside 9 and examined his torn shoulder. His mumbled comment "You certainly had a bit of trouble" got no reply. Truthfully, 9 was avoiding looking at 5, worried he might stare at his missing eye.

After a few seconds, 5 said "I can mend this." He swung the pack onto the ground and pulled out the thin piece of silver. Sunlight glinted off the sharp end.

Panic flooded 9 and he jumped back, falling on his bad arm, but that mattered little to him as he scrambled away. 5 stepped toward him and 9 yelled, "Don't come near me." He stood, the pain in his shoulder returning. His voice was quiet and rushed as he said, "I knew someone was following me, I knew it. I thought it was just my imagination but it was you this entire time. But I won't let you kill me. I _won't_."

5 looked to the sewing needle in his hand and then to 9, incredulous. He breathed in before saying in a forcefully calm way, "I think you're a bit delirious. I'm the least dangerous person I know. Even when I have tried to hurt people it hasn't worked at all."

9 backed away a little more. "You're not very good at reassuring either."

Another deep sigh. "I'm just saying I'm not going to hurt you." A stretch of quiet. "Do you believe me?"

9 glared at him.

5 shrugged. "Look at this way: You can let me fix you up or you can stand there until your arm falls off." 9 checked his arm with horror. "Your decision."

He still didn't trust this person, but 9 couldn't keep walking around like this much longer. Ignoring the physical pain, his emotions alone were about to drive him crazy. And, he reasoned, if 5 really wanted to kill him he would have done so already. 9 grudgingly went back and sat.

He watched 5 take out a tangled bundle of red thread—"Sorry it doesn't match"—and felt growing apprehension as the thread was slipped through the eye of the needle. 5 gestured to 9's right, suggesting "You should probably look that way," and 9 did so without a second thought. He braced himself but his body still jerked at the touch of the needle.

5 said, "See? That wasn't so bad."

There was silence between them, 5 focused on repairing 9's shoulder, 9 focused on getting his emotions under control. He'd rambled like a lunatic, most likely causing 5 to assume he was crazy, and had forgotten whatever he was doing before, but it was important. What was it? He flinched again and distracted himself by putting all his attention on a pebble not too far away. He wasn't thinking of anything when 5 said off-handily "It's been a while since we've had someone new" and then he understood why this stranger's name had sounded so familiar, hearing it among the mention of a group he'd never met, said with an air of paternal pride.

He turned to 5. "You know 2."

5 didn't look up, nor did his expression change, but there was a short pause in sewing. 9 didn't give him a chance to say anything.

"I met him earlier, but then this machine showed up–"

5 supplied while pulling the needle towards him, "A cat?"

9 nodded. "It took him away somewhere. We have to get him back."

It seemed so straight forward to him, but he couldn't guess what 5 was thinking as he finished mending 9's shoulder. He wrapped the unused thread around his fingers and snapped it. Without looking at 9, he said, "That should be good," and started putting the thread and needle in his pack.

9 was only half-aware he wasn't hurting anymore. "You could come with me," he said, "to rescue him. It would be simple."

5 still avoided facing 9. "I came to help you, I'm done, so now I'm leaving." He put on the pack while standing up. "Good luck to you, though."

9 watched as he began to leave and was suddenly hit by the fact he was going to be alone again. It wasn't any particular want for 5 to stay but a need for companionship itself that made him call out, "He talked about you."

5 stopped.

"He told me you were his student and I'd like you as soon as I met you. He said you all help each other in some way. He was happy over finding a typewriter. Someone like that doesn't deserve to be left behind." When he didn't receive any acknowledgement, 9 said, "You came to save me before even knowing who I was. Why should a friend be treated differently?"

He waited for 5 to talk, hoping he hadn't gone too far and, at the same time, that he had.

5 turned, expression still incomprehensive. "Are you trying to guilt-trip me?"

9 responded, "Maybe."

"Well, you're doing a good job of it," 5 said as he walked back to 9. "But we still have to stop at home for a minute to pick up some heavier artillery than this."

"And after that...?"

"After that we rescue 2. Now follow me."

As he was led through the city, always staying to the shadows, 9 asked, "Do you know where he was taken?"

"There's a building near the edge of the city." 5 glanced to all sides of him then headed left. "The cat goes there a lot so that's probably where it took him."

A few minutes passed.

"Thank you, by the way, for–" 9 stumbled over an unseen object–"for helping me."

5 waved it away. "It's nothing."

A few more minutes.

"Um... what you said earlier... You haven't actually tried to hurt people, have you?"

"Not anything terrible. You know how people sometimes get on your nerves so you think whacking them in the head would be a good idea? A couple words of advice: It isn't." 9 nearly laughed at that and then was told, "Almost there."

Ahead, he could see a cathedral that he'd caught sight a few times but hadn't given much attention. If he'd been taught as much, he would have known churches were purposely built at the highest point in a municipality so they would be seen from all vantages. But, since he knew none of this, he stared at this remarkably still standing building, with its tall steeple and majestic windows that glowed in the sun, and thought, _This is home_.

5 hurried him over the weathered stone steps, telling 9 to stop staring at nothing, and had to pull him through the large doors he was examining. 9 was enrapt with it all, from the subtle detail on the doors to the ceilings inside, so far away it seemed they could contain the sky. He wanted to look at everything but 5 immediately ducked into a room by the entrance, beckoning for 9 to follow and be quiet while doing so. They slipped into another room through a hole in the wall. While 5 checked the door on the other side, making sure no one was around, 9 found a globe lying on the floor. He righted it to its proper standing position and marvelled at the words all over, so small and faded he couldn't read them, but the wonder was there nonetheless. _Who could have made this?_ he wanted to know. Not just the sphere covered with tiny type, all of this; the walls and ceilings, the aging furniture, the thin rug under his feet. Someone had to make it for it to be here, but the cathedral was too large for people his size. _Who?_ 5 yanked him away from his amazement, ordering once more to be soundless.

Walking down the hallway, 9 asked softly, "Why are we in such a rush?"

5 replied, "If 1 catches us we won't be going anywhere." As the two halls intersected, he looked up and down the length cautiously before giving 9 a nod. They were about to pass another hallway when 5 said optimistically, "It should only take a couple of minutes to get ready and then we're out of he–"

"Where were you?"

They stopped at the harsh voice, 5 noticeably flinching, and turned to see a person walking towards them. 9 couldn't explain how but he knew instantly this was 1, recalling how 2 described him as the leader. He certainly didn't bother hiding his role. He stood roughly a foot away from them, obviously displeased. "Well?"

This was directed at 5, who had crossed his arms in attempt to hide the strap over his front. He was suddenly nervous and could only repeat the syllable "I" over and over.

1 said, "I gave you a job to do and you left it. Are you going to give me an explanation or just stand there like an idiot?"

5 was stuck in his repetition. He stepped back beside 9 and it was then 1 finally noticed him. Using the staff in his hand, he pushed 5 aside and questioned "Who is this?" while appraising 9.

5, glad the spotlight was off him, exclaimed, "His name's 9. I saw him wandering around."

9 thought it best to add something and opened his mouth to make polite introductions only to feel the staff press under his chin. He took this as yet another sign to keep quiet.

1 regarded him as if scrutiny was the normal welcome for everyone. He didn't turn his head to ask 5, "Where did you find him?" and when 9 tried to answer, he said, "I didn't ask you."

9 could see 5 behind 1 and the unconcealed alarm on his face. He couldn't understand such an extreme reaction or why 5 had started acting so on edge when 1 had merely talked to him. 5 glanced back the way they'd come, distracted. "Um..."

It was a single word, not even a real word, but 9 could see it meant more to 1 by the way his expression darkened. He turned to face 5 and, with austere emphasis, said, "You left."

5 was scarcely audible while insisting, "It was only for a second."

"It would only be a second if he was right outside the walls!" 5 backed away hastily as 1 advanced towards him. "You think you're up there all day to look around? You're supposed to warn us if those other two idiots"– 9 straightened– "bring something back, and they don't need your help in trying to get that thing to follow them right here."

5 began stuttering so badly it was almost impossible to decipher him saying "But he was hurt–"

"So the rest of us should be put in danger instead?" He would have continued ranting if 9 hadn't said a passive "Sir" to get his attention. 1 whipped his head around to see who'd interrupted him.

9 felt a tenseness overcome him, like a child caught beside a broken vase. He spoke slowly, hopefully in a way that could be mistaken as respectful, more likely showing how he was making it up as he went. "I can understand why you're angry but, not to sound rude, we don't have time for this. 2 was captured and we have to get him back before something horrible happens."

1 listened, his face changing from annoyed to bored. He said, "If we ran off to help him every time he got into a bit of trouble, we wouldn't be living here." He turned to 5. "You're going back on lookout and won't leave until it's dark." To 9, a little less sure. "As for you... Find some way to be of good use."

He started to leave, stopping briefly when 9 persisted, "But we have to save him!"

"How?" When he didn't receive an answer—9 wasn't about to admit he didn't know—he commanded, "The both of you are staying here," and left.

9 watched him, then looked to 5 the instant 1 was gone. "We're still going, right?"

5 seemed smaller now, any confidence from before vanished. He wouldn't be coming to rescue 2, 9 could see that; he'd stay and follow orders, be safe. 9 was tempted to do the same, to put his back to the perilous world and run into the arms of safety, but, although he detested the thought of being on his own, he was not leaving someone else's life to fate. With or without aid, he would keep 2 alive.

He was about to say how he'd be fine by himself, don't worry, when 5 spoke first. The same hesitant appearance on him, he said, "Of course we're still going. We'll just have to make up for lost time."

* * *

After more sneaking around, 9 was ushered into a dark room. He expected another square space, maybe a different piece of furniture to stand out from the other rooms he'd seen. He didn't expect to see a tarnished bell on the floor. He glanced up, assuming the bell had fallen and wanting to know where from, and a simple wondering was replaced by consuming awe.

If his first opinion of the cathedral was astonishing, this room was exceptional. Circular in shape, its perimeter was not impressive, but it was the vast height that left 9 speechless. He could only just see the top, a bit of dark hidden behind the bright sunlight flowing out of a ring of tiny windows. Below that were shelves upon shelves of what 9 was positive was everything. There were the unsurprising pieces of metal like he'd seen outside; however, he could also see many books, some with only a few yellowed pages glued between decaying covers, other volumes in such excellent condition they could have been printed a few days ago. Clippings from greyed newspapers were tacked here and there on the walls. Dust floated in the air, settling over this place of everything without a noise.

5 didn't share the same level of amazement. He walked into the room, hardly looking at it, and tossed the red thread and needle into the middle of the floor. He told 9, "I'll try to be quick," and moved to the edge of the room where more things were piled up. 9 heard and saw him on the periphery of the stupor he was in, broken when he bumped into an old lamp that squelched with rust. 5 let out a guffaw at seeing him recoil and then try to set the lamp exactly as it had been. "Stop worrying. They'll fix it better than you ever could. There a light bulb in that?"

"No. Who were you talking about?"

"The twins." 5 picked up a length of wire, studied it for a second, then dropped it while continuing his little search. "They spend most of their time in here and have a weird way of organizing that only they can understand."

9 looked up again, staggering slightly as he craned his neck. Moving closer to 5, he asked, "What is all this for?"

5's shouted "Aha!" showed he wasn't listening. He picked up a light bulb and, grinning, said to 9, "You should find something to defend yourself with. If you look over there, there should be—hey!"

Two other doll-like creatures had slipped behind him, and before 9 could finish blinking at how they'd seemingly appeared from nowhere, they snatched the bulb from 5's hands. The two were practically mirror images of one another, the only difference separating them being the numbers on their fronts declaring their names as 3 and 4. They leaned over the bulb, heads almost touching, flashing light from their eyes, and the one holding the bulb gave it a shake. A muffled rattling told that the filament was broken and it was thrown back to where 5 found it.

9 watched them scuttle to another pile, one hopping up and digging through it carefully. At his side, 5 commented, "Odd little things, aren't they?"

"What do they do in here?"

5 shrugged. "Read. Research. Sleep. Nothing very interesting." The twins discovered another light bulb, this one intact, and brought it back to 5, who instructed them to give it to 9, introducing, "3 and 4, meet 9. 9, 3 and 4."

9 lifted his hand in greeting. "It's very nice to meet you both."

They didn't say anything, though the one that passed him the light bulb, 3, smiled shyly at him. They left to another part of the room, the sporadic light from their eyes showing their position now and again.

9 observed them for a while and then asked 5, sitting and fiddling with two different pieces of metal, "Can they talk?"

"Not a sound."

A trace of sympathy grew within him and 9 wondered what it must be like to be voiceless. He couldn't imagine not being able to speak, to be unable to express any of his thoughts. The twins seemed happy enough, though, even if it might be they didn't know what they should be missing.

He was so involved in pity that he missed 5 talking to him. "What?"

5 held up the two pieces of metal now attached together on a thin rod and told 9 to twist the light bulb in, teaching him the old adage that left is loose, right is tight. 9 did so, though he wasn't sure how useful a bulb on a stick could be. He was just about to ask if he was done when there came a flickering and he then found himself holding light in his hands. He felt a smile spread on his face and wanted to say how amazing this was, to carry light wherever they went and push away darkness, but he couldn't form a thought well enough to get it out of his mouth.

5 held the rod out to him. "You can stare at this a bit longer if you like." He left him still gazing.

It wasn't until he returned, wearing the pack once more, now with something like a crossbow and grappling hook mixed together instead of a needle, that 9 was able to talk again. He asked 5 breathlessly, "How did you make this?"

He replied simply, "2 is a good teacher. Speaking of which, I'd say we've spent enough time inside, wouldn't you?"

9 nodded enthusiastically.

He wanted to say good bye to the twins before they left and thank them for the light bulb, but 5 was rushing him again, saying he knew a 'back way' out. 9 was told, "We still have to be quiet so 1 and 8 don't catch us leaving again."

"Who's 8?"

"1's lackey," 5 said with contempt. "Trust me, you don't want to run into him."

They were downstairs by then. The basement was as cluttered as outside and the only lighting came from holes that looked like they were blasted out of the above wall. 9, looking around and clutching the light-staff, suddenly realized that what he saw was wrong. In order for there to be so much destruction surrounding him, there would have once had to be a time _before destruction_.

He asked, "Why does the world look like this?"

5 answered, "Because this is just the way it turned out."

9 didn't bother continuing the conversation.

They had to navigate down a steep incline that seemed like a lop-sided bowl carved out of the earth and up the other side until they reached the way out, yet another broken wall. Just before stepping outside, 9 glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was following and noticed a light fixture on the ceiling. Why he could remember seeing that, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the weary thought of how this thing's purpose had long ago ended and now it was just another impractical item in a rubbish heap once known as a city.

5 stayed closed to the cathedral, 9 a pace or two behind him. The sun brightened as noon approached slowly, lessening the shadows and making the highlights harsher. They made a dash across the yard to a house with a sinking roof and after a minute's wait with no one coming after them, 5 announced, "9, you and I are now officially fugitives."

9 almost joked _Until we come back and get yelled at again_ but stopped himself before inadvertently changing 5's mind. Instead he asked, "So where are we heading?"

"You'll see in a second," 5 answered as he started walking.

It was several minutes until 5 pointed to the horizon and said, "That's it." The building was easy to spot, being the only structure on the sky line. From this distance, it was only centimetres tall, hardly bigger than a dot.

Keeping his eyes on it, 9 asked, "Is there any chance we can get there and back before nightfall?"

5 thought this over. "Possibly, if we're quick and don't stop."

"Then let's go."

* * *

Dusk was only hours away when 1 gave in to the fact 5 and the new one were nowhere around. He hadn't seen them since lecturing 5 and telling them to stay inside. It was possible he'd simply not crossed their paths again but it was far more likely they'd disobeyed him and left anyway. He was positive it was the new one's idea; 5 was too meek to go against orders twice in one day, so that 9 must have convinced him to come on some ridiculous rescue mission.

This was only conjecture and there was no use wasting time complaining of what he wasn't certain. He could think of just one person who would have seen them leaving, if they had, and with an exasperated sigh he went to talk to 6.

The walk upstairs didn't bother him—it was shorter than going to check on 5—it was the room that unnerved him. It had clearly been in disrepair even before the world stopped: windows boarded up, pale cloth draped over tables, small pieces of wood and brick missing from the wall that let in weak amounts of light. The shadows were so thick it seemed if a person made one misstep the darkness would swallow them. How 6 could spend all hours in such a place was beyond him.

1 found him sitting in front of the wall farthest left from the door, drawing, as usual. Already half the wall was covered with paper. 6 was bent over a picture, what of 1 couldn't begin to guess, and gave no notice to the person standing behind him.

1 questioned, "6, can you see anything from up here?"

6 gave a short nod accompanied by an "Mm-hm." Concentrating on adding sharp strokes to the picture, he said, "5 and someone new left a long time ago."

Of course they did. Who cared about rules and self-preservation when you could run off to get yourself killed for no reason?

6 held the drawing up for inspection. "7 went with them. She must have forgot something because they were already gone by the time she left. They're trying to bring 2 back." He looked at 1 with his mismatched eyes. "Aren't you worried about him?"

If 1 wanted to be truthful, he would have said yes, hearing of 2's capture worried him. Attacks they could deal with, and had plenty of times, but not once had one of them been taken away. He told 6, "2 can take care of himself."

6 returned to his drawing and 1 was gratefully about to leave when something caught his attention. There remained a space on the wall not covered with paper because a list of numbers, possibly names, was inked into the wood. The crude slashes and circles gave the room a more unsettling atmosphere than darkened lighting could ever try to achieve. But the list itself was not what 1 had noticed. Where there had been eight numbers before, the digit 9 now stood at the end.

He tapped the number with his staff. "When did you add this?"

"Yesterday." 6 had started another nonsense picture, white page splattered with black ink from his fingers. He seemed oblivious to 1's presence again so he left. Before leaving the room, 1 heard the other say, "They don't need to go after him, you know. He'll come back on his own."

1 paused in the doorway, thinking that would have been good information to hear before 5 and 9 had taken off. He didn't voice this. There was no use explaining anything to 6; he either forgot or failed to see logic in a statement.

6 didn't look up as 1 walked away. He held the new drawing up, flipping it around and around until he decided it looked best a specific way. He set it down with the others he would put up later. An old picture was found and he started sketching something better on the back. He was running out of ink. He'd have to get more soon.

His hand slowed and then stopped. He stared at the picture but didn't see anything. Lethargically, he turned his head to the list of numbers he could never remember putting there. They all seemed faded, almost invisible, except for one. Barely aware of what he was doing, he raised a hand still covered in ink and drew a slash over the number two, the mark dark and heavy. It appeared to bleed before being absorbed into the fibres of the wood.

6 blinked. He went back to his picture and grinned at the result, paying no mind to the ink drying just inches away from him.


	3. Mistakes

**Constructive crit is always welcome!

* * *

**

_Mistakes_

* * *

The late afternoon sun tracked a mirror of their path, a few dense clouds having moved in and threatening to overtake it. 9 gave them little attention as he asked, "Do we have some sort of plan?"

5 said nonchalantly, "Don't get killed, I guess."

They'd traveled with little conversation, though 5 had already said twice "I am not looking forward to the walk back." 9 was determined to stay optimistic, thinking the trek back to the cathedral would be so much better because they would have 2 with them. He busied himself imagining what they would talk about after saving 2 and kept thinking of it even after it became boring, but his mind needed a distraction. A thought had slowly come to him, so very much like the clouds above, and it kept questioning, _What if he isn't there? Or what if you can't find him? Then what will you do?_ 9 couldn't think of an answer.

For another distraction, he asked 5, "Have you ever had to do this before?"

"Do you function off of question marks? No, this is the first time." He helped 9, holding the light-staff, over the remnants of a bureau. "Usually he hides at the first sound he hears. I don't know why this time he messed up. Maybe he was too busy thinking of some new invention."

_Or maybe he was too busy saving you._

The thought came like a shove, making 9 stumble. He heard 5 advising him to be careful but it was overridden by horrible comprehension. He'd been sure getting 2 back was the right thing to do and was why he'd been so vehement about the idea. But what if this was all fallacy and the true reasoning was so he could avoid a guilty conscience? It made such clear sense: 9 had ignored 2 telling him to hide; 9 had shouted and been heard by the cat-machine; 9 had stayed only to make 2 push him out of harm's way.

He shook his head hard enough to hurt. He repeated _stay optimistic, stay optimistic. _What had happened was just a chain of unfortunate coincidences, he told himself, and he had little impact on any of it. Besides, he was helping 2 now and that had to mean something.

_Stay optimistic, stay optimistic..._

He was about to say something—whatever he first thought of—when there came a soft sound, like pebbles skittering, and they both stopped. The land here was flat and relatively uncovered with trash so they should have been able to see anything dangerous coming towards them. _No_, 9 corrected. They should have seen anything big. But that cat hadn't been much taller than him and it was the reason he was out here, worrying now of something else hunting him.

Silent as possible, 5 pulled out his odd weapon and motioned for 9 to be quiet, an unneeded suggestion. 9 hadn't moved at all, apart from the extremely slow scan over the horizon for another machine, much less said anything.

How much time passed he didn't know, but after a long wait without sighting anything, or hearing another sound, the tension seizing them slipped away. 5 replaced the weapon in his pack, telling 9, "We should be more careful and hide next time we hear an–" He didn't get to finish his sentence as a pale blur knocked him aside. 9 had barely yelled his companion's name in surprise before he was slammed into the ground. A foot pinned him down and the sharp point of a spear was put alarmingly close to his face. Yet this wasn't solely what caused him to start; the holder of the spear stood over him, the fierce skull of a bird hiding their face.

From behind the mask, a female voice said casually, "I could kill you right now if I wanted to."

9 could only blink for semblance of a response.

5 reacted faster, snapping to a sitting position and demanding, "What do you think you're doing?"

The foot was lifted from 9's chest and his attacker turned, lifting the mask, to answer, "I'm proving you're completely incompetent for this little adventure." 9 started to get up when a hand was offered to him and he looked up to a kind face. The former attacker smiled. "I'm 7. Are you hurt?"

He was helped back to a stand and replied, still feeling a bit confused, "No, I'm fine." He wanted to ask why she'd bothered knocking them down but 5 spoke first.

"And was that noise supposed to be proof of your amazing stealth?"

7 replied, "I got this far without you knowing I was following you."

5's weakly attempted retort, after a pause, was "You can go back just as quietly then." He went to leave but only took a few steps before he realized 9 hadn't moved. He turned back with an earnest look. "Aren't you coming?"

9 wanted to go to 5 and explain a thought to him but knew doing so would make 5 assume he would be following him again. All he could do was ignore how rude he was being when he turned to 7. "You're a fighter, aren't you? You're brave and protect others?"

Behind her expression, 9 could see 7 slightly taken aback by his directness, but she never lost her smile. "That's quite the flattering description." She patted his shoulder when saying to 5, "Where did you find this kid? You could learn some things from him."

5 didn't even glance to her. With the same pleading face, he said, "9, we've already lost so much time."

"But why can't she come with us? That cat will probably be there, and she could help." 9 would later ponder why he was the one defending 7 and he'd then realize the look she gave him now was of complete amusement.

5 glanced to the building, to them, and to the building again, any small shred of pride he had fighting a losing battle. He gave in, as 9 knew he would, with an exasperated "Fine! But for the last time, we have to hurry."

9 gave him a nod that he wanted to show a mix of appreciation and apology, but went unnoticed as 7 walked past, teasing, "Fine, but you'll be the one that will have to keep up." She ignored 5's incoherent grumbling and said to 9, remaining at her side, "You seem to know a lot about being a fighter. Are you one yourself?"

"No, 2 mentioned you. I'll never be able to fight. A person has to be brave to do that."

7 grinned. "And you're convinced you're not brave."

9 returned the smile, or at least what he hoped was half of one. "And you think I am? You've only known me for a minute. I'm not the type you would call fearless."

"You left when most people I know would have stayed where it was safe. Something inside you must be strong for you to do that."

Was there? He didn't feel strong, not as the conversation was happening and surely not as he recalled this blurred yet clear memory. He saw selflessness as nothing more than an illusion. There was always a selfish motive behind someone's actions, whether people would admit to it or not. Yes, some motives were more noble than others, but even when someone went back to save another from harm, didn't part of them know if they hadn't gone back, their own guilt would kill them?

From behind them, 5 said, "I left with him."

7 responded, "Yes, but you're spineless. You don't count." When she saw 5 give an annoyed shake of his head, her expression that hadn't changed since knocking them down—almost like she was laughing at them—softened into something that 9 could only describe as true. She went to 5, placing a hand on his shoulder—much more real than the pat she'd given 9—and told him, "We're not going to be too late."

Those words were able to coax a smile out of 5 and 9 wished he could grasp the same hope. He was trying to but just as his fingers skimmed it, it flitted out of his reach. This was why he needed to get 2 back. He was still unsure what was powering his motives, but he knew for certain that, if he failed, his own guilt would break him.

* * *

Their destination hadn't been much larger than a dot when they'd begun, but it started growing. The closer they were to the building, the more formidable it became. Just like he'd known the cathedral was home, he looked at this structure towering over him and knew death once lived here. He didn't voice this opinion, aware of how silly it was, but he thought the others may have felt it too. There was something about this place that at once told you to escape while you could and this made the pull of temptation all the much stronger, telling you to see what lay inside.

A lone flag above the entrance drifted lazily in a breeze 9 couldn't feel. It was a haunting reminder of a dead world; that flag had probably drifted the same way when humans walked under it. A feeling like insects shifting over his back made him wince and he looked away.

As they entered the building's bleak and dusty lobby, he asked 5, "Are you sure this is safe?"

5 answered in a whisper, "Don't worry, we've come this way before. As long as we stay close to the walls, we'll be fine."

"I thought you said–"

"That we've never had to rescue anyone, yes, but coming here to scavenge for materials is different."

"What do you–"

The sharp exhale made 9 stop. 5 turned to him, saying, "Look, 9, I'm sure I would love to answer this question later but we have to be quiet now, so try and keep all those little thoughts inside your head for just a few minutes."

Part of 9 was aware he should be insulted but 5's voice told him more than words could. This place still scared him, whether it was simply the atmosphere or the very real danger of the cat-machine, and he was begging 9 to keep up the illusion that they were safe.

9 nodded, proving he could stay quiet.

7 took the lead, crouched incredibly close to the ground yet still able to move faster and more silent than the two following her. 9 wanted to use the light-staff but it was determined too risky. Shadows blended with shadows to the point he couldn't tell if they'd passed through dozens of rooms or if they'd even left the lobby. Outside, he'd hoped most of the building's size came from high ceilings, but it was becoming more and more depressingly obvious how enormous this place was. How could they find one person—one lone person—before the sun went down?

His spirit was being crushed to such an extent that he practically leapt at the gray hint of light in a room but the sound of rusted joints interrupted his short-lived celebration. 5 pulled him back while simultaneously trying to hide behind him. The hint of gray brightened and 9 heard debris scattering over the floor, punctured by the click of sharpened metal. 7 gestured for them to stay put as she slipped around the overturned furniture blocking their view. When she returned, she pointed to one end of the room and said, "It came from that direction. You two go search that way, I'm going to distract it." She flipped the mask down over her face, gave a quick "Good luck", and darted towards the rasping of claws on the ground.

"Wait!" 9 ran after her, shaking off 5's grip and barely remembering to keep his voice low. Between a table and a broken chair, he caught a glimpse of 7 running right at the cat but just as it noticed her, she dropped and slid under it. With a hiss, it tried to swipe at her but by then she'd already bounded over a debris obstacle with such ease and enthusiasm that 9 suddenly realized, to her, this was fun. The cat gave chase, the light from its other "eye" disappearing along with it.

When the darkness returned and he could feel 5's presence next to him again, 9 asked, "Is she going to be okay?"

"She'll be fine, she's always doing stupid stuff like this." Through the gloom, 9 could see 5 look to where 7 had pointed them, then came his voice hardly louder than a sigh. "Do you think we'll be able to find him?"

9 replied instantly, "Of course we will." He held up the light-staff. "Can we please turn this on now?"

5 instinctively glanced to where the cat had been only moments ago. A bit of uncertainty remained as he said, "It should be harmless enough."

9 twisted the light bulb to its proper place and even the preceding flickering brought relief to him. He looked to 5, seeing for the first time how truly miserable his companion was, and said sincerely, "We will find him."

5 managed a small smile and echoed, "Of course we will."

Since 9 was the one holding the light-staff he was also the one to lead, 5 never straying more than an inch away from the soothing radiance. Light. Everything would be better with light.

* * *

He'd been in far worse situations, he was sure of it, but he had yet to think of one.

From the very second that thing had caught him, 2's mind had been unusually blank and empty. He couldn't recall feeling any kind of emotion when he was being carried off or at seeing poor 9 get tossed aside. He was aware but felt nothing. It wasn't until a rough jerk had shaken his hat off—and with it went most of his vision—that he knew what a mess he was in.

He kept trying to convince himself this wasn't anything new, he'd been in plenty of scrapes during his lifetime. But this had never happened before. He had no precedent, and it was trepidation of the unknown that had him so completely terrified. Was he going to be killed right away? If later, how much time? Where was it taking him? _Why_ was it taking him? It was a predator, why didn't it kill him now and do whatever it wanted with the remains? Was it possible there were other machines hiding just like they hid in the cathedral? Had there been more this entire time they'd thought there was only one left?

Was he going to live?

Would he ever be able to see everyone again?

The cat took him to the building on the edge of the city, or he guessed. The best help his sight had to offer came only when he focused his eyes a certain way, and that merely improved marginally the clarity of objects close by. Blurred shades of blacks and grays passed him and his weakly contained panic was mounting. He almost wished the thing did decide to kill him as soon as possible, because if it didn't, his own fright certainly would.

He saw, or at least thought, there was a lighter coloured blur ahead, something dully reflective that may have once been beautiful. He'd just started to accept this as some sign he might still have hope when everything dropped. He collided with a hard, flat surface too quickly to scream during the fall, but it was a good few minutes before he had enough breath to groan over how his back had taken the brunt of the impact.

Then all he could do was wait.

He figured he was in some kind of cage that should have had a dome shape, judging by how much he could see above him. But if he'd been dropped into it, something must have torn the top off. Perhaps he was lucky to have such bad sight; if there existed some horror that could rip apart metal, he didn't want to see its work and start imagining what it could do to the shreds of fabric that made him.

He told himself everything would be fine. Someone would come and rescue him. Someone always came for him. He wanted to think 5 would come, but even if he could force himself to get past his own qualms, he wouldn't be allowed to leave. He probably didn't even know yet what happened. Maybe 7. She spent a lot of time outside. Maybe she'd seen him. Or maybe the new one, 9. He'd been following him before. Before the cat attacked him. Was he even still alive? Did it kill him? Was 2 going to be next?

Insignificant sounds made him jump and it took ages to eventually calm, if he didn't hear something else from the dark. Worse even than the thought of death was thinking it was coming for him and not being able to see it.

He would be fine. He had to keep believing that. He had to.

He was almost back to being calm—as much as he could be—after another whispering sound when he heard something else. A voice. It was hushed and he thought it might have been a trick of his mind interpreting anything into what he found familiar but then it came again.

"2, we're over here. Come this way."

Every instinct told him silence was the best choice, but it didn't stop him from saying "5?" Please let it be him, he begged to no one, please don't let it be a cruel imagining.

There was a bit of shuffling, then another sound: "2, follow our voices and you'll be able to find us."

"9?" Every emotion that had been plaguing him for the last who-knew-how-long-it-had-been left at hearing that sentence, for two reasons he was aware of. First were the duel parts of overpowering joy that he was being rescued and that 9 was still alive, but there was something more selfish. If he was hearing 9's voice, they were actually there. 5's voice he could understand pretending to hear, but why would he hallucinate about someone he didn't truly know?

2 stumbled in the direction he was sure he'd heard them and soon felt a soft brushing against his arm. 5 guiding him to where they were, saying soothing lines of how they were here to save him, he was going to be all right. 2 clasped his friend's hand in both his own. There was so much he wanted to tell him now that his mind was working again, yet all he said was, "You came."

5 was smiling, he knew—a real one, not faked. "Of course I did. Now stop looking like you've seen a ghost. We're going to get you out of here." His hand pulled gently back and 2 could hear him mumbling.

9 comforted him by rubbing his arms that still had tremors running through them. The younger asked, "Are you hurt?"

"No, just a bit shaken," 2 replied. "I'll be over it soon. What about you? The last I thought I was going to see of you was–"

He hadn't realized how excessively worried his voice had become until 9 stopped him by assuring, "It's okay. _I'm_ okay. 5 helped me and then we came right here to get you."

How great it felt to be able to smile again! He was sure he'd never get another chance. 2 said, "I told you you'd like him."

5 teased, "You think everyone likes everyone." He sounded farther away. 2 had faith in him that he'd find a way out.

9 started talking in the manner of an offspring trying to impress a parent. "I met the others you talked about. 1, the twins. And 7's here with us. Well, not _here_, she went to act as a distraction, but she came to help you." 2 nodded along, prompting 9 to exclaim, "And we brought this with us. We couldn't use it earlier and just a few minutes ago we had to turn it off because we thought that thing was coming back."

He heard the thin screeching of rusted material. Whatever controlled the focus in 2's eyes was broken but what absorbed light worked perfectly. His head snapped back and his optics clicked shut in attempt to block out the flash that already felt like it had blinded him.

9 was able to fit several apologies into one second, declaring another few times that he didn't know that would happen; well, of course he knew it would turn on but he forgot that it would be so bright. Before he could correct his blunder again, 2 told him, "It's nothing." He could see a bit better with a light source, which stabilized the reassurance rooting inside him. He asked 9, "Did you help make it?"

"Not really," 9 answered while staring down and sounding oddly disappointed. A silent moment went by and then he asked hesitantly, "Could you teach me as well so I can make things like this?"

"Of course." If there weren't metal bars between them, 2 would have put an arm around the younger to convince that air of self-consciousness to leave his voice. "Why the change of heart, though? You seemed convinced earlier that wasn't for you."

9 looked to the light bulb casting a glow over the lenses of his eyes. He said, "I want to make more of this, items that can help us wherever we go."

2 started to say, "Of course you could," but didn't get far before 5 accidentally interrupted him.

"I can't find any breaks anywhere," he said while walking into the circle of light. "And climbing to the top is a stupid idea." He sighed emphatically and looked up, to see the top of the cage or as if to find some answer, 2 couldn't guess. "You've really gotten yourself in deep this time."

The light moved, almost as if 9 had flinched, but it was more likely just a movement preceding him saying to 2, "Everyone makes it seem like you're always causing trouble."

5 joked, "More or less. Sometimes he comes home with a bit of fabric missing or sometimes he doesn't come home for a couple of days so we go out and find him half buried under a pile of trash he's knocked over on himself."

"That last part is an exaggeration," 2 told 9. He suddenly recalled their earlier conversation and gasped, "Oh! 5, I have to tell you about this excellent idea I had."

9 listened as 2 began explaining about making doors. Though he liked hearing how 5 and 2 talked and how very comfortable they were with each other, as they kept talking he gradually became jealous. It was such a petty emotion and he almost compared himself to an attention-grabbing child when he realized no comparison was needed. He _was _a child and he was seeking attention. He'd been so insistent on this rescue, convincing 5 to come along and that 7 could stay, and he wanted to be praised. And, yes, part of him was jealous that 5 seemed to be getting most of the attention. He liked it before when it had been just him and 2, when he'd been the only one that 2 was speaking with. Why shouldn't he be commended for not taking one minute to think for himself and instead put all his consideration into looking for a person he'd known for less than an hour?

Every action had a selfish motive behind it. Every single one.

9 asked, "Cages should have doors, right?"

2 and 5, snapped out of their conversation and without a doubt wondering why he brought this up, both nodded slowly.

9 passed the light-staff to 5, saying "I'll go and see if we can open it." When 5 tried to reason it was locked, he said, "I'm just going to check."

He walked around almost half of the cage until he found the door, indeed with an old lock around it. He pulled on the door—2 cringed at the racket it made—but the lock, contrary to its haggard shell, held strongly and he gave up.

5 gave him an "I told you so" as he joined them again, 9 taking back the light-staff that was more like a security blanket to him by now. 2 was kinder and said, "You tried."

For the longest time, no one said anything, though they may as well have because they knew they were all thinking _What now?_ They were out of ideas and nearly out of faith. A few times 5 started "Maybe..." but never got farther while 9 preferred to stay silent. He was afraid if he tried to say anything it would inevitably turn into a blurted "I'm sorry." He was having a hard enough time listening to his own denial, he wouldn't be able to accept it from someone else. He couldn't understand why the more he heard 'No, that's not true,' the more his mind argued, 'Oh, yes it is.'

He spent most of the overly long awkward pause with his head down, pretending to study the details of the light-staff. He glimpsed 2 staring up as he heard the older ponder, "If there was some way to push this over..."

5 said, "It's worth trying." He glanced to the light-staff but his face said either he figured the rod would snap under any weight or that 9 would never let go of it. After giving 2's hand a slight squeeze and returning the other's smile, 5 turned and went to explore the surrounding area, suggesting 9 help by lighting around them and "keep a look out for something we can use."

Junk covered most of the floor and 9 started to wonder where it all came from. Half the objects were distinctly out of place, the cage especially, and he couldn't even guess why they were here. What use did a bent spoon have in this building? It didn't make any sense. Most aggravating of all was that most of it wasn't any help. If something wasn't too flat or too small or too big for them, it was on the verge of breaking or mostly buried. 9, now long since vexed, started to ask 2 if he could think of anything, but the sentence faded away as he turned and saw 2 looking behind him, petrified.

5 noticed right away when 9 stopped talking, and upon seeing his friend so worried, rushed back to him, 9 following, and anxiety coming after. When he was the closest he could be to 2's side again, 5 questioned, "2? 2, what's wrong?"

Staying completely still, 2 muttered, "Turn the light off."

9 heard a muted shrieking from far off, the sound getting louder and closer. Something akin to a shudder went through him and he was left unable to move. It wasn't a sense of horror that caused this stupidity, or even the similarities to that morning. He was too aware of the space around his body and how completely unprotected he was. If he– or 2, or 5– was attacked, they would be so easy to kill. That should have made him want to run but it only heightened the feeling of being paralyzed.

He would have remained immobile if 2 hadn't spun around and insisted "Hurry!" in a barely contained whisper. 9 jumped and quickly twisted the bulb loose in its placeholder. No sooner had he done this then there came the metallic scream as the cat-machine landed on the other side of the cage, the sharp glare from its fake eye stunning 9. 5 wrenched him by the arm into the shadows, leaving 2, now visibly shaking, with that creature staring at him.

The cat didn't move for a few seconds, an unnerving effect. Then, slowly, it began pacing around the cage, as though it knew they were there and was simply playing a game. 2 ran to the middle of the cage once it took its first step, still shivering and grasping his hands tightly together. He watched the cat as it walked by him but kept glancing worriedly to where 5 and 9 were hiding. As he kept doing this, 9 urged him, _Stop doing that. It's going to see you doing that and it's going to know we're here, stop! _He and 5 inched further into the shadows, trying to be silent but failing since it was near impossible to move without sweeping against some article on the floor. They dropped low when the cat looked in their direction, barely ducking beneath the spotlight. The cat stepped toward them and absently used one claw to tilt the cage slightly so it could get a closer look.

A spark went off in 9's mind and he grabbed the first object nearest his hand—the bent spoon—and threw it as hard as he could. It hit something with more of a thud than the expected silvery clang, but it was enough to fool the cat into jumping at what it assumed was its prey. He knew it wouldn't be distracted for long. 9 bolted before 5 had time to restrain him and he almost slipped as he halted in front of the cage, standing with his back to it, facing the cat still searching for an inanimate object.

He heard 2 say, "What are you doing? You're going to get hurt." His mind was telling him the same, with a few _idiot_s thrown in. But he stayed there, even when the cat finally noticed him and a sound like an angered hiss came out of it.

9 said, "Move back and brace yourself." He didn't get to explain more because he had to dive away from the machine's pounce, hitting the ground the same time it collided with the cage. 2 yelled as his prison, and himself, was knocked down, and the cat nearly toppled over in a comical way that made 9 grin. Adding onto his delight was the feeling of pride that he'd actually created a plan, simplistic as it was, but it had worked and now they could save 2. Unfortunately, his accomplished mood ended when he saw one problem with his spur-of-the-moment decision.

He hadn't given much thought to what came after the cage being felled, specifically the fact he was left lying on the ground while the cat regained its balance and twisted its head towards him. He was thankful instincts took over swiftly as it was possibly the only reason he was able to roll aside as it leapt at him again. Rising panic quickened his stride as he fled, the cat not far behind. The darkness he'd been avoiding swallowed him but he couldn't care for an insignificant phobia like that while running for his life. The black couldn't harm him, there weren't any monsters waiting to catch him.

The cat-machine, however, had stopped playing its hunt like a game. If it caught him, it would without a doubt kill him.

* * *

5 waited until the echoes had faded away and then rushed to a quite disoriented 2. He crawled into the cage and hastily embraced his friend just to know he was still here, still safe. 2 started to hug him back but 5 ended the moment, helping him out of the cage and asking if 2 was hurt and being told no, he was fine. 5 began to fret over some other small problem, stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 2 looked to him with pure sincerity and said only, "Thank you."

5 beamed, though he tried to dismiss it by saying, "This was nothing. You would have done the same for me." He heard a sound to his right and he turned to see 7 hop over the trash surrounding them. He said, "You did an excellent job being a distraction."

Without pause, 7 countered, "I _was_, but then you had to go and make a noise!" In a much kinder tone, she said, "Hi, 2, are you all right?"

2 gave the same gratified answer of "I'm fine, thank you," though he must have been tired of being asked that by now.

However much fun it would have been to banter with 7, 5 had had enough of this building for a single day. Gripping 2's hand protectively, he explained to 7, "9 ran off with the cat chasing after him and he's probably hiding somewhere. We're heading back so you'll have to find him." He said a quick "Good luck" and was about to leave but only took a step when 2 pulled him back.

His mentor asked with honest confusion, "We're not going after him?"

5 didn't know how to respond, since he'd assumed returning to the cathedral would be the wisest choice. 7 answered for him, speaking in the calm voice she usually had when addressing the twins. She said, "Don't worry, I'll be able to find him. You should leave before anything else happens."

2 looked about the closest he'd ever come to being annoyed. 5 couldn't blame him considering he was being treated like an invalid. He stared in the direction 9 had gone, or what he thought was the direction when, in truth, he was looking the wrong way, but 5 couldn't make fun of him for it. 2 had a rather naive outlook and thought their entire group got along when reality was far from that. Yet he was under the impression that no matter how long you knew somebody, they would be considered the same as a lifelong friend. It wasn't a bad trait to have and 5 wouldn't change anything about him, but it was these moments when that trait became a hindrance.

2 asked, "What if he's hurt?"

"Then 7 will help him when she finds him," answered 5. "We have to go, 2, it's dangerous here."

2 faced him. "But he came to help me–"

"That doesn't mean you owe him a favour."

2 started to make another response but it changed into a dejected sigh that weakened 5's willpower. 2 glanced again in the wrong direction—they'd have to turn the light on so he could see better—and after a few seconds of thinking, turned back to 5 with a hopeful smile.

He said, "I know this must sound like a crazy idea, and I promise we'll go home soon, but, for my own conscience, I have to see that he's unharmed." When 5 tried to think of an argument, although he would readily admit he was unsuccessful at it, 2 continued gently, "You know I'm too soft-hearted for my own good. This will only take a minute, it will be nothing."

He could have listed off a few more excuses, but 5's resolve had already disappeared. He wasn't exactly sure why. He figured 9 could look after himself for a little while, and he could usually talk 2 out of anything if he persevered. Maybe he gave up because he wanted to be more like 2, a person that cared for others, not the person that let survival instincts control his life.

He smirked. "If you're not careful, you'll turn into a stubborn old man."

As 7 informed them she'd run ahead, 5 found the dropped light-staff and screwed the bulb into place so 2 wouldn't be half-blind. Nevertheless, he kept a firm hold on 2's hand to guide him around the clutter that extended further into the building. His thoughts still told him it would be best to leave for him, but he didn't want to cower anymore. 7 didn't blink at any threat, 9 had used himself as bait, and 2 was concerned more for a person he'd just met than he was his own wellbeing. 5 could pretend to be brave for a minute.

* * *

Escape seemed such an easy concept. If 9 could simply find a good place to hide or think of some way to out-manoeuvre the cat, then he could return to the others and this rescue mission would finally be over. Escape was not easy, not with a mechanical abomination intent on catching him and ripping him apart.

The only advantage he had was his size. Whereas the cat was larger and faster, 9 was able to slip under what barricaded his way. Sometimes any space he could find was painfully tight, but if it bought him time, no matter how small, he would take it. But it was never enough. Even when he was convinced the cat had lost sight of him and he could breathe with relief, it would appear again, digging him out of his pathetic sanctuary, and the attempt at fleeing would begin anew.

He was forced deeper into the building until he reached a room that, for an unknown reason, he was able to remember in detail, though he theorized it was more because of imagination than his cognitive skills. Like the rest of the building, the room was dark, a fraction of light creeping through grime hidden windows above and the greyness perching on the edges of silhouettes. This place seemed to be the core of what the building had once been: circular walkways layered each other according to floors, a couple descending into a basement, leading off to other areas and all connected by rung ladders. He didn't understand the design, but then again, he didn't understand how his memory produced such a clear image when he hadn't been giving any notice at the time.

He'd managed to get some distance between him and his pursuer by crawling and sliding through what it couldn't, but he knew he had only precious seconds. He balked as the floor seemingly dropped away in front of him, and he lost time being absurdly disoriented over where he suddenly was. But he couldn't stop, it was right behind him. Exhaustion was beginning to wrap its restraints around him and he would have sacrificed anything, everything, if it meant he could stop running. His own breathing was hurting and there was nothing to take cover behind, just a round platform that any creature could capture him on. He slowed and peered over the edge, hoping perhaps there was some form of retreat, but the most he could see was another pile of trash a few metres down, no different than he'd already seen. There had to be a way out, or a hiding place that wouldn't be discovered, or any comfort at all, if it just got him away from that thing...

The glaring light warned of the cat's appearance and 9 almost froze up again after whirling around to see it skid onto the walkway. In another second or two it would rush at him and he wouldn't be able to out-run it. He checked what was surely a lethal drop beside him, with only a heap of scrap that may not even be strong enough to hold him, but if there was any chance he could survive, he would have to take it. He sucked in a breath to steady his unease, which didn't work well but it distracted him from last second alibis, and then he jumped.

It felt like a wall collapsed onto him when he landed, causing him to fall face-first as his legs buckled beneath him. He couldn't remember exactly what occurred next as it all seemed to end the instant he realized what was happening. There was the sensation of the world slipping away, panic as he tried frantically to grab hold of anything at all, nothing beneath him, something under his feet that only made him tumble backwards, the word _emergency_ flashing by, and then a dull pang across his shoulders. He hit the floor heavily, possibly losing consciousness for a moment, and he couldn't tell if he was staring up or down. Once his head stopped looping and the pain in his back dulled—he must have bounced off the railing—he pushed himself to a sitting position, both problems returning in sickening combination.

A clunk reverberated around, each sharp click cutting into an already awful ringing noise, but the ringing was only in his head. He recognized what was coming after him foolishly late and by the time the cat bounded onto the same walkway he had only a second, if even, to scramble back.

The weight of the cat's claw on him was crushing, but that wasn't what stopped his breath. He wanted to yell and scream, struggle with all his energy, hyperventilate, any regular reaction to being terrified, except he was too weak to do anything but gape at the creation prepared to destroy him. He couldn't be killed, not now, he was only a day old! He didn't even know what falling asleep was, why did he have to feel knife-like claws pressing down on his torso before he felt sleep? This couldn't happen.

The weight increased, evoking a tiny gasp, the last thing he was positive would ever come out of his mouth before his end came. The cat was going to slice him apart for no other reason than because it wanted to. He wished it would be over quickly. He didn't want to be aware while it was happening to him.

More weight. His cloth skin protested. Please let it end.

A low humming noise. He didn't so much hear it as feel its bass through him, and the confusion overtook not only him but the cat too. Its prize temporarily forgotten, it looked around, the spotlight glancing off the railing, but everything beyond was veiled. The sound was strengthening.

He didn't know how but suddenly that horrible weight lifted and 7 was dragging him up, leading him with words that were both encouraging and demanding. The cat had vanished and he wanted to question why as they started climbing a rung ladder, but her mixtures of "We're almost there, just a bit further," and "You're too slow, hurry up," impeded him.

After being hauled over the edge of the ladder—the texture of the walkway was gritty and rough, almost hurting—9 managed to ask, "Where did it go?"

7 answered, "Who knows, who cares. Keep moving."

The humming noise had transitioned into a constant undertone, but he had yet to locate its derivation. The drone came from all directions and he spent so much concentration on it and wherever it was hiding that he nearly missed 5 and 2 meeting with them. He asked, "What are you still doing here?"

"We had to make sure nothing happened to you." 5 spoke like it was an obvious choice for anyone. 9 wanted to argue about what would have been a safer option but forgot once 2 laid a hand on his arm. He was so concerned while asking "You're safe?" that 9 couldn't stop from smiling. 2 had been captured yet he was distraught over someone else. It just seemed so funny.

9 nodded, the only reply he could give because the drone was gaining power. He could scarcely hear 7 telling them to stop standing around and get moving. 5, holding the light-staff with one hand and 2's arm with the other, had to yell to ask, "What is that?"

"I don't know," 9 said, and this was immediately trailed by a scrape so cutting that he instinctively pressed his hands to the sides of his head. The sound bounced off the walls several times and when it dissolved, another came to replace it. He wanted to know what was going on but couldn't even form the thought of a question before that noise like two rusted pieces of steel being shredded against one another sliced through his mind.

7 yelled at him again but he couldn't recall what she said. Instead he remembered hearing 2, his voice barely audible, asking, "Does that seem like it's getting louder?"

The walkway shook and they all lost their balance in some way, 7 being the only one who didn't outright fall. The shudder didn't last long, and when 9 clumsily stood up he glimpsed the shape of a mechanical arm above him. The words "Wake up" were directed at him before 7 shoved him in the side, and he could've sworn she said "Useless" under her breath. It didn't sound right, too high-pitched to be just frustrated at him.

Another violent shake pitched them forward and the light bulb went out as 5 hit the floor. 9 hastily pulled him to his feet, but instead of gratitude, 5, absolutely terrified, demanded, "Where's 2?" Feeling almost sick, 9 turned—in the background, 7 asked what was going on—and saw 2 where they'd first fallen, searching frantically for the people cruel enough to forget about him. There was another shudder and the humming reached almost deafening volume. 9 turned to where he was sure it was coming from and saw red, only the color red, rising above him. He tried to convince himself the sight was just an illusion from the lack of lighting but he could see the thing in front of him too well for it to be a trick. He didn't want to admit it but the words forced themselves into his head until he couldn't ignore them.

There was another machine now and he'd just awakened it.

Behind him, he heard 5 making that shaking kind of gasp that some found funny unless they'd actually listened to it. He expected him to remain stunned longer—he expected the same of himself, truthfully—so when 5 rushed forward, 9 had the jump-reaction of yelling "Don't" and holding him back. It was one of the worst things he could have done but 5 didn't even seem to notice as he instructed, "2, this way! We're over here!"

2 looked up in their direction but didn't move. If he couldn't see where they were or was too scared, 9 couldn't tell, nor could he blame him. The new machine stared directly at them, the dark, red light from its single eye their only illumination, even though it seemed—for lack of a better word—tired and didn't do much else. If it had only stayed like that. While 5 directed 2 towards them and while 7 was wherever she was during that moment, 9 was the only one to take any notice of the cat suddenly behind 2. He didn't know where it had disappeared to, or when and exactly why it returned, but it was back and 2 hadn't seen it yet. He'd taken a few steps when it crouched and someone—maybe 9?—without thinking yelled, "No!" 2 stopped, unsure, and the cat caught him like it had caught 9 no less than a minute ago.

5 started screaming and struggled against 9, once absently trying to hit him with the light-staff, but 9 didn't let go. He hated the reasons he gave himself for doing so, but wouldn't anyone else in the same situation see how terribly this was going to end and attempt to save who they could? None of that stopped the stab that went through him as 5 continued screaming for 2 to get up, don't just lie there, get up! How could a person without a heart put so much of it into his voice?

2 didn't even cry out. He gave up as soon as the cat's claw came down on him, pinning him to the walkway. He didn't look up for 5's pleas, or when the cat called in its grating hiss, or when the new machine moved listlessly so it towered over him. Not until the humming noise changed to being more concentrated, focused, did he seem to notice and he looked to the machine with such apathy that 9 wondered if he saw it at all. But when he turned his head— he still didn't seem scared yet— 9 felt like he was staring specifically at him. Not at 5, not in their general direction, at 9.

Underneath that awful humming, 2 shifted one hand forward and said something 9 never did hear, but he still knew the words.

"Help me."

He didn't want to remember this part. He hated this memory more than any other. Why was it the moments he tried hardest to forget could be remembered so clearly?

2's hands jerked as his head snapped back and something— some kind of light— was ripped from inside him, his body shaking. And the sound; like someone far away shrieking with agony. The last remnant of light was torn out, shattering the glass in his eyes, and 2's head fell onto the platform with a dull sound.

9 couldn't move. He had to run, he knew that, but he couldn't look away from 2's body. That's all it was now: just a body. The odd thing, though, was that 9 didn't even feel scared or confused or anything at all. The only hint of an emotion he felt was a sense of detachment, as if this was someone else's story he'd heard. He couldn't have seen what just happened, that was an impossibility that others had to deal with. He couldn't have seen someone killed in front of him. That couldn't happen.

It was the cat moving that finally startled him to attention. It advanced carefully forward, it's old catch already forgotten like every other leftover piece of life in this building. 9 was still holding onto 5, the other seemingly in a deeper state of shock. The command to run came back to him but if he tried to flee now then the cat would jump at them. 5 wasn't reacting to it coming towards them so even if 9 did try to run, he would have to drag 5 behind him.

He whispered, "5—" the cat was another step closer—"we have to leave."

5 kept staring at 2's body.

A shiver crept over him and he tightened his grip around 5 to hide it. "Snap out of it, 5, we can't stay here." His voice shook, making his words louder than intended.

The cat growled low.

5 kept staring.

9 glanced over his shoulder, glimpsing nothing before he closed his eyes and ducked his head in anticipation for the attack that would follow his careless mistake. Instead he heard a yell from close-by and he opened his eyes to see 7— he's almost forgotten about her— fling herself onto the cat's head. She stabbed her spear into the fake eye, the light breaking. The cat screeched and swiped at her, but she'd already jumped off and landed in front of 9 and 5. Red light outlined the mask over her face as she yelled, "What are you doing? Get out of here!"

5 started and this was enough for 9. He pulled at 5's arm and ran. This part of the memory was splintered: he remembered a room but not how they'd gotten there; 7 alongside them but not when she'd caught up; and the cat, slipping on the same debris they did, but he didn't remember the sounds of it. He heard the sound of the the other machine far behind, that bass hum echoing back like a haunting dream.

An intrusive shriek caused 9 to flinch and suddenly all the memories disappeared, leaving him alone on the windowsill. A hinge. It was a shutter hinge that had scared him so badly. In another time, he might have laughed at something so stupid but he hadn't been in the mood to laugh for... How long had it been since he'd last laughed?

He leaned against the wooden frame, eyes closed, breathing deeply to calm himself. He would attempt to remember that later, but for now he wanted to rest. This was only his first day of remembering, and only the first day of his life. There were many more days he'd rather ignore but he would face them eventually. That was fine. He owned all the time in the world.


	4. Myth

_Myth_

* * *

They kept running, for how long he couldn't guess, until 5 tripped and fell to the ground with a terrible sounding _thud_, the light-staff landing with a _chink_ an inch away. He didn't pick himself up and neither 7 nor 9 helped him. Honestly, the thought never occurred to 9. He was exhausted– they all were– and, to be even more truthful, he was avoiding any thoughts so he wouldn't revive that moment that had already become a memory the three of them wanted to forget. He hated that most about memories. The present was impossible to keep before it became the past.

He looked behind him at the building, a small shape on the horizon again. Nothing about its appearance had changed since earlier, still a colourless structure against an overcast sky, but the ordinariness frightened him more than if he'd still been inside it.

_Coward_, his mind told him. _Scared of a building, of the dark, everything. Worthless_. He ignored the thought by studying a rusted faucet in the dirt. The shadows around it were sharp and long from the setting sun.

When he turned back, he locked eyes with 7 for an uncomfortable instant before they both looked away. She tightened her hand around the spear she already had a fierce hold of. So many questions he wanted to ask her, one being if she ever felt afraid like he did, but the loudest, strongest question was only 'What happened?' Somehow he knew he'd never get an answer.

He knelt beside 5, the other still breathing hard from the run, and started to help him up. 5's body was tense and unresponsive as 9 put an arm around him, his face blank as he was lifted to his feet. 9 wondered– as much as a person can without thinking– if they would have to lead him all the way to the cathedral when he was shoved backwards and almost lost his balance over the light-staff.

5's eye was tightly closed as he yelled to no one, "Why didn't you do anything?"

After so much silence, 9 winced at the question.

5 kept going, "You could have helped him." He lifted his head to look directly at 9. "I tried to help him and you didn't let me!"

9 tried to speak, but what could he say? He didn't understand what he'd seen, none of it. Not the dark room, not the machine, not–

–2 stared at him, red glow above, then–

No, don't think about that. He lowered his gaze quickly and shut his eyes, pushing that image away. His chest hurt, another thing he didn't understand, and he clamped his fingers into fists just to feel the taut pain, something that made sense.

His mind had gone from empty to overflowing. He _wanted_ to explain to 5 what he'd done but he didn't know, he honestly didn't know, and now 2 was gone because of him, because he'd been stupid and selfish, and all he could think to do was scream...

9 should have said this but he was too scared to open his mouth. _I really am afraid of everything._ It didn't matter anyway. 5 had already turned to 7, shouting, "And you!" 9 chanced opening his eyes to see her straighten, chin raised and expression hard.

Even though 5 was yelling, it wasn't anger 9 heard in his voice as he said, "You're always going on about fighting, always fighting, so why did you stand there and do _nothing_?"

For a second, the emotion 7 was hiding showed– enough to notice she was indeed hiding it and for 9 to think _Yes, I feel that too_– but then her face was hard once more.

"5, stop it," she said, perfectly controlled. "You were as surprised as the rest of us when that thing woke up. Screaming at us isn't going to change what happened."

9 watched as it seemed whatever had been the last piece of 5's strength faded away, and the hurt in his chest splintered. _I'm so sorry, more than you can probably imagine. None of this was supposed to happen, we were supposed to have 2 with us. Please believe me when I say I'm sorry._

With his head down, 5 said, "I know." He breathed in and out quickly. "I know, I... Can we just forget about this?" He sounded like he barely had the will to keep standing.

"It's okay." 7's tone had switched to low consoling. "You were upset. Come on–" she gripped his arm gently– "it's getting dark."

They left without waiting for 9; or, to be more exact, 7 left without waiting, leading 5 ahead and not giving 9 a glance. _You deserve that_, he admitted. He bent down to carefully pick up the light-staff, checking that the bulb hadn't broken– it was fine– but he no longer felt the comforting awe at carrying light. Regardless, he wrapped both hands around the staff, the top resting on his shoulder, and kept watch of the ground in front of him for loose objects as he followed his companions. At one point, he looked up to see how far they were from the cathedral– the tower stood out, swathed in orange, from the rest of the city already in shadow– and guessed they would be walking for more than an hour.

No one talked.

Eventually 7 let go of 5, her face still expressionless. She was a mystery 9 would never come to fully understand. Only a few hours ago she'd kicked him to the ground, smirked, put her hand on his shoulder, teased him. Now she wouldn't even look at him. One moment she was harsh and commanding, the next kind and encouraging. Always distant. And not once did she admit to feeling anything aside from the need to fight. When it all mattered, though, he was certain this was the way she wanted to be remembered: no complicated emotions, no true self, just the memory of someone that protected.

He hadn't realized how much he missed her.

Colour drained from the world as night took over, second by second, until everything turned the same lifeless grey, scattered bricks identical to the rusted hubcap he passed. 9, observing dusk for the first time, could've sworn the city was melding together it was so difficult to separate objects from their surroundings, so he was more puzzled than questioning when 5 slowed, staring at something to his right. Wordlessly, he left 9 and 7, searching for what could be spotted in this gloom only he knew.

While they waited, 9 risked glancing quickly to 7. She appeared bored, arms loose and the spearhead almost touching the ground. He'd hoped to see some sign of tenseness in her to match his own during the uncomfortable silence. At least in that way she'd be acknowledging his presence. After 5 finally found what he wanted—they knew for certain when he started brushing dirt off of it—she simply adjusted her grip with a short, habitual movement and resumed walking as soon as he joined them again. 9 couldn't tell at first what he was holding—it looked like a disk with some other thing stuck on top and then a hole through the center—until, in less time than it took to blink, he recognized it as part of 2's hat. He'd made the assumption when they found him that it had fallen off during his capture, but he'd soon forgotten of it upon seeing how 2 and 5 were so relieved, and then he'd become jealous...

Before he could convince himself not to, 9 said, "5?" The other turned to him apathetically. "I'm sorry."

5 kept his head down, watching his fingers skim along the disk's edge. The only response he gave was a half-hearted shrug. 9 could have asked exactly what that meant –was it acceptance or rejection?– or tried to explain himself again but the words stuck in his mouth.

The first stars were above them as they climbed onto the steps to the cathedral. There was no urge to run his hands over the ornate doors, no marvelling at the high ceilings, no questions about who created everything around him. 9 felt empty, tired, and just wanted this day to end. That morning and that evening were two divided lives. Tomorrow would be different, he believed, without danger or joy. Tomorrow would be simpler.

He didn't give any attention to his surroundings, not until after he followed 7 into a room and a deep voice right beside him said, "1 wants to talk to you."

5 jumped with a choked shout and 9 clutched the staff in defence as he backed away from the person by the doorway. He guessed this was 8, smirking at their reactions. He understood now 5's earlier tone at mentioning him.

As could be expected of her, 7 didn't even twitch her head when she noticed him. She said, "He can wait until later. Right now we need sleep."

8's smirk disappeared. He moved to stand over 9 and 5, arms crossed, scowling. That was enough to say they didn't have a choice.

7 sighed in annoyance, her first unfiltered emotion in the past two hours.

She remained in the lead as they walked through a new section—to 9, anyway—of the cathedral. When he saw a staircase, 9 paused to ask how they were supposed to climb it but barely got out "What" before 8 told him to hurry up and he fell back in step with 5. His question was answered as he saw 7 hop onto an unnoticed pile of books arranged into a _U_ shape, the books stacked taller and taller until they formed a smaller scale staircase to the banister. Even that was altered, with notches carved periodically into the wood for their feet. 9 had his wonderings about this, but they were faint, forgettable, and he left them behind as he followed 7 down the landing.

1 was sitting as they entered the room but stood to say, "Did you enjoy your little outing?"

His sarcasm did nothing to improve anyone's mood. 5 continued staring at his grim souvenir. 7 rolled her eyes, as much as she was able. 9 didn't do anything.

"I keep telling you to stay inside where it's safe. I even reminded you today after you'd already left once _and_ gave you orders. But, no, you had to go on a _rescue mission_." He was standing importantly in front of them by now, 8 at his side. He continued his berating directed mostly at 5. "Meanwhile the rest of us are here with no one to keep watch and half our defence skipping after you."

5 took all of this with little reaction, apart from a cringe over 'rescue mission', and so 7 argued on his behalf, "Leave him alone. At least he has the courage to step outside."

1 glared at her. She stared back with defiance. He said, "We don't need more people leaving us all at risk. There are enough problems with you and 2 running off into that wasteland." Only after saying that did he notice someone was missing, presumably because that someone would have been the next subject of a tirade. "Where is 2?"

There it was. The question that had to be answered. He must have repeated it to himself a hundred times during the walk but he'd never thought of a response. 9 hadn't let himself think of one. Instead his thoughts had been guesses of how this moment would go. He expected 7 to stay quiet. He expected himself to shuffle around the question. Maybe he even expected 1 to ask it again, impatiently. He did not expect 5 to speak.

Voice aimed at the floor, he stated, "2's dead."

_Dead_. That word landed heavily between them all, heavily silent, and 9 realized that was the first time he'd ever heard it. Of course he knew of the word and the fact his life could end, but that didn't stop the feeling of surrealism covering him, hushing the last denial of _no, that didn't happen_. At the time, he chose to concentrate on how dull the word sounded. An ugly word for an ugly act.

The others jolted at the short sentence. 7 seemed as surprised as 9 that 5 had talked, 8 went from being amused at seeing someone in trouble to being worried, and 1... His thoughts, whatever they were—shock, anxiety, perhaps even sympathy—were barely glimpsed before he reverted back to standard, aggravating 1.

"It was bound to happen sometime," he said, though there was a certain strength absent. It returned as he went on, "Let this be a lesson to you for how dangerous the world can be. Hopefully you'll make better decisions from now on."

5 finally looked up, a slight lift of his eye, and his mouth and arms tightened the more he listened.

Another memory: The sun sat on the horizon as 9 confessed that, back then, he'd actually been afraid of 5 and how filled with hate he was. 5, sitting beside him in the dark orange light, said, "It scared me, too."

Now he was remembering out of order. If he started that then everything would become impossibly entangled and the details would become blurred.

He was having trouble remembering this moment on its own. Most likely it was because he'd stood off to the side, merely watching. The result was a sense of detachment. He wished more of his memories were like that.

The next he could recall was 7 telling 1 in an oddly casual tone, "If you're going to start the 'dangers of outside' lecture, I may as well leave."

Before she could do just that, 1 demanded, "You're not leaving until I say you can."

7 halted. In the doorway, she spun around to face him and, in that single movement, her pretence collapsed. "We saw someone killed today! There's a new machine now, and I think finding out how to defeat it is more important than listening to you rant." She left in a loud stride.

Her short-lived anger didn't cause much fallout. 1's response was a muttered "One of these days..." If the end was _I'll throw her out_ or _she'll be the death of me_, 9 didn't know and didn't much care. Real thoughts had finally come back to him and questions, so many questions, about what he'd seen and what those laced together images meant. 7 had most likely gone to the tower where the twins lived and where they could help her find information. He said, "Um... I should probably go..."

He got the same feeling from earlier, of a child caught doing something wrong, as 1 turned to him. "I almost forgot about you," the older said. "Here for an hour and already disobeying orders."

9 waited, anticipating his turn to be yelled at. He was strangely disappointed when all 1 did was sigh and wave him away. "Fine. I'll think of some punishment for you both later."

9 went to leave, coaxing a sullen 5 to come with him, but they were still a ways from the door when 1 called to the latter in the manner of an afterthought. 5 half-turned to him.

"Leave that here," 1 said, giving the pathetic reminder of 2 an offhand nod. "You won't need it."

5 didn't move for the longest time. Or so it seemed to 9, still watching. Finally, 5's arm shifted and he tossed the object he'd dug through the dark for aside. The metal disk clattered on the floor like a dropped coin. He never broke the line between him and 1.

1 commented "Do something about that attitude" as he looked away.

On their way down the stairs, 5 began complaining about 1 with an uncharacteristic but understandable frustration. The complaints were short bursts, the syllables sharp, talking of he'd always known 1 was a terrible person but this definitely proved it. "To make an example— Out of _that_—" The hollow echo of his voice faded into the ceiling, his exasperation alongside it. 5 never could stay mad for long. Soon he was mumbling things 9 couldn't decipher and which sounded more like apologies, except for an insistent "He shouldn't have said it."

9 listened, fiddling absently with the light-staff. He stared at it for so long that his eyes unfocused and the bulb became a pale yellow blur, hazy white in place of the burning filament. He wanted to say something—mostly _I'm sorry_; it was amazing how quickly he fell into that habit—but he couldn't force the words out of his mouth. _Why bother?_ he asked himself after the first attempt. Words wouldn't be any comfort to 5, they wouldn't fix anything and he was sure they'd sound as empty as the darkened hallway they passed through. So he listened.

He was greeted upon entering the tower by the sight of the twins hugging 7. She glanced over her shoulder at him and the twins followed her movement. There was a scarcely noticed nod, devilish grins, and then they rushed over to 5 and 9, embracing them as well. 9 had 3, 5 had 4. It was endearing how, even in silence, they found a way to tell them, "See? We're happy, you should be too." 9 glimpsed 5 give his twin a pat, heard him say quietly, "Thank you," with the effort of a smile. 4 hugged him a bit tighter before returning to 7.

3's arm were still wrapped around 9 and the other was staring at him with too wide a grin.

"You have to smile," 7 informed him. She sounded more like the person he'd met earlier, the person who'd bluffed killing him, although he figured that was more to make them forget her outburst than any kindness for him.

9 looked down to 3, waiting patiently. He would have preferred to shake out of 3's grip, be alone, not feign happiness, but he tried nonetheless. It must have looked awful, yet 3 accepted it and let go, beaming with accomplishment.

7 stroked 4's head lightly. "I haven't told them what happened yet."

Under her hand, 4's air of _a job well done _diminished. The twins glanced at each other, a few small, surely nervous flashes between them. They were realizing some problems weren't so easily fixed with a hug and a smile.

They turned to 9, and he then saw 5 and 7 had already done the same. Something like panic gripped him and he unwillingly took a step back, shaking his head. "But I don't know what happened."

"You know more than we do," 7 said, the fake kindness still there. To the twins, she explained, "We were separated earlier. 9 is the only one that can answer something for me."

He shook his head and pushed that emotion like panic away. "I'm sorry, I really don't know. Everything happened too fast." Again: "I'm sorry." It was all he could offer.

She didn't call him a liar or a coward, although he knew she thought it because of the slight way her lips pressed together. No, 7 simply turned her back to him and began detailing her side of that memory to the twins, pretending she hadn't noticed 9's weakness, pretending she didn't hate him.

The worst part was how easily 9 accepted this fact.

He looked above him, noting the moonlight resting on the shelves. There were countless newspapers, books, and who-knew-what-else in the tower. There had to be an answer hidden somewhere.

He tried not to but he could hear 7, and the closer she came to the end of her story, the harder it became to distract himself.

"... 2 had fallen behind," she was saying, "and the machine..." Her pause was short. "It killed him. I'm not sure how, but it did."

9 checked the twins' reactions. 4 was clasping 3's arm. They seemed frightened, confused, and a little intrigued. The thought of death, and the truth that one of them was already gone, was terrifying. But, at the same time, the idea of a new danger brought curiosity and with that a want for information.

7 soothed, "Don't worry, it can't get us here. We're safe. But I want to learn more about it, see if there's a way to destroy it, so there's never any chance it can hurt someone again."

Guilt forced 9 to speak up. "I'll help." He'd planned to describe the machine, to make up for his previous silence, but he only had time to breathe in before the twins left to another part of the room, waving for everyone else to follow.

They stopped in front of a thin pad of paper curled against the wall, long enough to see the others were actually following. Together they tore off the first dust-stained page to reveal the clean sheet underneath. While 3 smoothed the paper, 4 scurried over to 9 and looked up at him, head tilted.

9 asked, "You want to know what it looked like?" He was just starting to grasp their way of "talking." He also wondered what the paper was for. After 4's nodded response, he began, albeit shakily, "It was bigger than us, by how much I don't know, and tethered to the ceiling, I think. It had a glowing red eye and many arms." He tried to think of anything else important but came up with nothing. "Is that good enough?"

Another nod told him that was an adequate description. The twins seemed to confer with one another until 4 turned to the paper and then 9 understood what it was for. It substituted as a projector screen. He must have been surprised the first time seeing the twins' unusual ability but, as he'd long since tied it into who they were, like their names, he couldn't truly recall.

A sketch lay over the paper, ghostly outlines showing some kind of spider that had come out of the ground to grab an unsuspecting ant. The picture was supposed to be a way of asking "Sort of like this?" but the comparison seemed far too accurate for 9. Beside him, 5 shuddered, not taking his eye off the ant. The poor insect's terror, portrayed in ink marks, called for solace as it fell under a monster's grip.

7 answered, "Yes, like that."

The image changed from a standstill picture to a grainy film. 9 couldn't at first make out what he was seeing but then it snapped into focus and he saw the machine in front of, he assumed, an assembly line. Its eye, now a grey smudge, looked all around it. The film clip had no sound, leaving him to guess this was news coverage of the machine's creation. He kept his attention on the machine as it pieced together another mechanical thing, but then the shot changed and he saw them.

Humans.

They weren't doing anything that could be called interesting, mostly standing, though once it showed a few males writing on a document and shaking hands. For a moment, he ignored his painful guilt and looked in awe at the footage of an entire species he'd forgotten about. How in the world could he forget about them? They'd shaped the world to fit to their liking. Everything he turned to had been made by them in some way: the light bulb he held, the cathedral, the footage the twins were showing; all of it had been made by human hands. He wished he could find just one of them to ask "How did you do that? Could you teach me?" And then, simply, "What happened to you all?"

That thought sombered him and he felt almost ashamed. He didn't have time to wonder about humans. They were gone and there wasn't anything he could do about that, but he could try to stop the people he knew from reaching the same fate.

After 4 ended the clip, 9 asked, "Do you know anything else?"

The twins shared an insulted expression that said _of course_ they knew more. 9 added, "I mean, it's all right if I look around and stay here for a while?"

Again they had that _of course_ face– though more comforting than prior– and then slipped off to another part of the tower.

7 told him and 5 before leaving, "Start searching. This won't be easy."

* * *

It didn't take long– the first book he opened– for 9 to realize a major problem: he couldn't read. Singular words he was fine with and knew the meaning behind the words but he lacked the ability to combine those into a coherent sentence. For an hour, and probably more, he strained to put together _I believe I must go out into the world again,_ a line from an unimportant storybook. He should have left to tell 1 to stop thinking of a punishment- the frustration of reading was enough.

He concentrated so hard that the world shrank to the size of the page, causing him to jump at a tentative "Hi" behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see 5 standing not too far away, smiling feebly.

"You've been sighing," 5 said after a moment.

9 returned to the page and tried to keep a light-hearted tone while replying, "Just reading, that's all."

He heard 5's shy steps on the floor, although the other didn't move any closer. "3 and 4 are the only ones that can, really. I've just been handing everything I find off to them."

Why are you talking to me? 9 wanted to ask. Why are you being so nice? You can't actually feel that way?

They both shifted uneasily, not wanting to leave but not knowing what to say. Those questions were still there, prodding 9, Ask him, ask him! Maybe he isn't mad at you, maybe you're forgiven.

He glanced to 5 and asked, "How are you?"

5 seemed to relax at the safe question, responding with a brisk "Good." More shuffling, more awkward silence. 9 was sure that was the end of their conversation– if it could be called such– but then 5 started, "Listen, I know 7 seemed like..." He approached 9 to meet his eyes. "Don't take anything she does to heart. It's just been a long day and everyone's tired."

He was lying. It would take only a minute to tell him to stop acting like nothing had happened and admit that 9 made a horrible mistake and he hated him for it. Maybe not 'hate', he couldn't imagine 5 admitting that, but he must have felt some kind of contempt. How could he not?

9 stared at the faded print written by someone he'd never seen. 5 said his name anxiously. Just a few words and he would know...

He couldn't. As much as he denied it, a part of him begged to be told, "No, you just think everything's gone wrong, but it'll all turn out right in the end, you'll see." He couldn't bear to hear otherwise.

"9?" He heard 5 step closer. "Do you want me to leave or..."

"No, you can stay." A quiet laugh. "You'll have to get used to all of my sighs, though."

5 continued the pretend cheeriness, saying something that didn't matter while moving the light-staff closer. To make it easier for 9 to read, he added. 9 said a small 'thank you' in return and tried to hide how that one gesture, adjusting the light for him, had hit so hard. Why did the most insignificant things tear into him? It made sense, in its own way, considering he'd thought he was going to die and then witnessed someone's death barely minutes after. A person was bound to be overemotional under that situation. Yet what hurt him most wasn't how easily 5 chose to believe a lie than say "I saw my friend killed"; it wasn't how, in less than a day, he'd lost any respect 7 might have had for him; it wasn't how his own thoughts wouldn't stop shaming him. What pierced him through was how he'd taken the same lie and held onto it.

He needed it.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

* * *

Sometime later, 8 showed up. He appeared behind 9, said, "You're going to need a weapon," and walked away without waiting for him to follow.

9 turned to 5, thinking maybe he was who 8 had been talking to. The reply he got was a likewise confused look. "This is probably 1's idea," 5 said, returning to the books around him. "You should just go. It's too much trouble to ask questions." He gave a reassuring grin that, to 9, only ended up being melancholy.

9 hurried to catch up, though he couldn't stop glancing behind him. It wasn't like he was afraid of 8, of course he wasn't, but... Why did he need a weapon? Maybe 1 thought he'd be some help fighting, since 7 and 8 were so good with weapons. He had told him earlier to find something useful to do. But 9 couldn't fight, he really couldn't. He had to convince them he didn't need a weapon.

He followed 8 to a collection of weapons, close to where he'd first met the twins. 8 didn't pay him any attention. He focused on the array of broken objects that had been scavenged simply because they had a sharp edge: knives, scissor blades with rust on the handle, pieces from ragged dissection kits, even some sewing needles were kept to the side. 9 had no interest in anything he saw.

If he had a throat, 9 would have cleared it. He hated how faltering his voice was as he began, "I don't know if 1 thought of this, but could you tell him that I don't want to fight? I'm not really—"

He froze when 8 turned to him. The other looked him up and down before moving to the smaller weapons.

While he waited, since he had nothing else, 9 studied a newspaper clipping tacked nearby. He couldn't see the words from where he stood but he could see the picture. Black-and-white humans smiled, content, captured forever by a camera's eye. As far as he could tell, they were happy about whatever building was behind them, be it a home or business. How had they lived day by day? Waking up in the morning, nothing more than the thought of their work or school, passing through the veil of routine without much of a care. What was it like, then, to watch everything- the people, the city, the world- slowly die around them? To have those routines break, to then wake with the simple intent to survive to the next morning. It must have been worse for the last few; the humans that had lost all they'd known but were able to remember what this street used to look like, who lived in that house, the face of the person they passed everyday but never bothered to memorize their name, a moment they looked past the veil and saw a piece of beauty in the monotony. Those were the people he felt the most sorry for.

A noise alerted him and he barely had time to turn around and glimpse an object tossed his way. He fell back and the knife landed, harmless, on the floor as he staggeringly regained his balance.

8 laughed. (It was nice to know dangerous projectiles could be thrown at him as long as it was good for a chuckle.) As 9 picked up the small knife— it didn't feel right to be in his hands— he said, "The oddball thinks you're going to be the new leader."

9 restrained his sigh. He was too tired to feel any surprise and it wasn't worth insisting again he didn't have any desire to lead. However, the comment reminded him of something he needed to do and he said, "I have to speak with 1. Do you know where he is?"

* * *

He was told 1 was in "the big room" downstairs. 9 first considered the wording a sign of 8's simplicity but he soon had to agree that was the most fitting description. Even by human standards, the cathedral's sanctuary was magnificent, and 9 couldn't stop himself from staring up at the stained glass windows. Most of them were shattered and dirt-covered, but there remained a few pieces that showed colour, brightest in the moonlight.

He entered what he thought of as the rear of the room and found 1 on a table behind the pews, lighting candles. 9 walked forward, wondering exactly what the candles were for, and tried to plan what he would say. If 1 listened to him at all, he wouldn't do so for long. Another book-staircase– a single line, not the space saving _U_– let him crawl up to the bench, where he sat and waited. 1 ignored him completely.

Eventually, 9, looking up, questioned, "Why are you doing that?"

He was shocked when 1 responded, even if there was a long pause before "6 managed to get himself lost his first night here."

9 wanted to point out the hazard of candles around so many old books and papers but could already imagine the "Don't talk to me about something so stupid" look 1 would give him. He focused on the mention of 6, the person he hadn't met, and assumed he was the "oddball" 8 had referred to. He said, "Apparently he's been telling everyone I'm going to be the new leader."

If 1 had any problems with this statement, he didn't show it. His eyes were on the match in his hand as he lit another candle, saying "You'll learn not to take anything he says seriously." He then faced 9. "He's usually wrong."

9 had never thought hesitation and haste could be melded together but he heard both as he said, "I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier."

Another candle was lit. "You make mistakes that can't be fixed, but at least you're polite over it."

9 had to ignore that. "We're trying to learn more about the machine, to find a way to destroy it."

"3 and 4 have been searching through that trash for their entire lives. Why do you think you'll discover anything new?"

This wasn't going well. "We can try."

With a no transition— a sure sign 1 was losing patience— 1 said, "7 explained what happened earlier today." More to himself, he added, "In few words as possible." He continued to 9, "She said, though, that you would know more of the specifics."

Not that question again. Turning away, 9 replied, "5 already told you. 2 died. That's all I know."

"That doesn't tell me anything," said 1. He slipped into that commanding 'leader' tone that 9 was beginning to hate. "Living here means contributing to our survival in every way possible, which means giving as much information as possible."

Immature as he knew it was, 9 refused to answer and stared at the back of the pew in front of him. He anticipated 1 to demand he stop being so selfish, to be of some use to the people he'd successfully put in danger, or at the very least stop acting so needlessly depressing. What he heard was, "You make it seem as if you're the only one that's seen death."

9 countered weakly, "But this is the first time anyone has died."

There was a scoff before 1 said, "We lived through the end of humanity. You think we didn't see a few people killed?"

He turned around. "You remember humans?" 9 asked, the words like a whisper.

1 scowled. "I remember dead humans."

9 went silent, as he guessed was 1's intent, but his too strong curiosity couldn't stop him from asking, "What was it like in the beginning?"

"As difficult as you would imagine. Humans were stupidly running around and trying to kill machines ten times their size when hiding was the much safer option. 2 was probably the only other one to remember them"–9 involuntarily winced at the past tense–"unless the twins found something before we met. Most of the humans were dead by the time they joined us, as well as most of the machines. There were a few attacks, the worst being when 5 lost his eye because of carelessness, but I kept everyone safe, made sure they were sheltered here, and kept them alive. In return, they have added their own skills to our survival. Be it fighting, creating, teaching, or leading, we were all made to do something."

9, relaxed against the pile of books that led up to the candle table, commented, "2 said the same thing."

From the way 1 looked at him, he considered comparisons to 2 an insult. He said, "Unlike him, I don't speak in metaphors. When I say we were all made for a reason, I mean so literally." Upon hearing 9's shocked gasp, he grinned. "Ah, you've never once questioned where we came from, have you?"

No, of course not. With everything that had happened, 9 hadn't had time to ponder the facts behind his creation. He knew they weren't born like humans were, obviously, but the thought of someone putting him together piece by piece before he was alive, possibly even setting his personality for him, felt more than a little disconcerting. He stammered slightly as he asked, "But who made us? And why?"

"A man you should feel lucky you never met, and I can only assume because he was bored."

Another candle wick was set aflame. Very few were left to be lit and by the time they were, 1 would likely end the discussion. 9 asked, "But you did meet him, didn't you?" He took 1's silence as an answer. "What do you remember about him?"

1 said to him, "He didn't pester me with questions, I can tell you that much." That would have been the end of the discussion in 1's mind, but 9 wasn't going to let it stop there. He sat straight and held eye contact. 1 made an exasperated noise and, turning back to the candles that hung a translucent glow in the air, muttered, "You're not going to give up until I tell you something. Fine. Yes, I met him, but only once. He was an inventor that likely created us so that some form of life would survive after the world's destruction." He quickly added, "Don't bother asking any of the others about him. They never met him at all. Presumably he left them anywhere in the city and went back to that house he'd holed himself in."

1 continued on about "him at least having intelligence", but 9 only heard it distantly as he thought of light from a single window, wooden floors beneath his feet, and a form in the shadows he only then recognized as a body. "I..." He had to raise his voice and start again. "I think he's dead."

"I would think so, too, by now," 1 said.

"You aren't upset?"

"He's another dead human. I don't see what there is to be upset about."

There remained only one flameless candle. 9 didn't give himself time to think the words over before saying, "But he was the one that gave us life–"

"Don't you start thinking of him like that." 9 jumped. For the first time, 1 gave him his full attention and, if he was going to be honest, 9 preferred being half-ignored.

When 1 spoke again it sounded like he was forcing his voice to be quiet.

"You think just because he created us that we should respect him, look up to him like some kind of father figure. You're too young to remember this so I'll tell you now: that's all he ever did for us. While humans were dying because of the war they made, we had to keep the same from happening to ourselves with nothing but luck to help us. He gave us nothing. Just left the others in those ruins, not caring if a machine killed them or not. Every time we found someone new, he may as well have insulted us because their existence proved he was still alive and that 'the lives he gave us' didn't matter to him. If he really is dead, I'm glad to hear it. That man deserved death more than anyone and the world is certainly a better place without him."

9 could only sit there. All he could say, eventually, was "You can't really believe that?"

1 turned to the last candle, saying, "I'll believe what I want because it's the truth." The last flame shivered to life and he shook out the match, a thin wisp of smoke soon trailing from its head. Without looking at him, 1 told 9, "Now leave. I'm done talking to you for one day."

Part of 9 was determined to stay but his spite wasn't worth it. Not on 1, anyway, he told himself. Despite the speech– which he was sure had been practiced before– 9 refused to think of his creator in the same vain as 1. As he stepped onto the broken cathedral floor, he thought But he made us! It doesn't matter if he didn't help you years ago, he's the reason you're here now. That's enough for me. And, possibly– though he wouldn't admit this to himself until much later– there was the childish want to believe the one person he could call a parent was flawlessly good. It was downright pathetic.

Just as he was about to leave the sanctuary, one final question came to him. 9 called to 1, "Why did you tell me all of this?"

"What did I just tell you?" was the annoyed reply. That was the closest 9 ever got to an answer.

The halls were nearly black as he made his way to the tower. Then again, perhaps he was so deep in thought he hardly noticed the walls surrounding him.

He made a decision that night. He may not have known what his "purpose" was, but he was sure of one thing: he wanted to become someone different. Someone stronger. He was sick of being scared of everything and already sick with the guilt of what he'd caused. If he stayed as he was, he'd become a burden and probably cause himself to go insane. The solution was simple. If someone he'd never met was convinced he was a leader, he could act as such. If he had a weapon, he may not ever use it, but he would keep it. He would protect the others. He would change everything about him. If he did– when he did, then maybe, hopefully, he could fix his mistakes.

He nodded to himself and hurried back to the tower.

* * *

**A/N: Slight edit made. I was in such a rush to get this chapter up, after such a long wait, that I forget to do one more proofread. Turns out I'd forgotten to make one more alteration as well because 1 was somehow still lighting candles with a match he'd put out a minute before. Oh, embarrassment.**


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